Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures
by DragonDi
Summary: Four years ago, Remus Lupin lost his friends to death and betrayal. Now he finds himself betrayed once more, and in a place where death may very well be preferred. Winner of the 2009 Hourglass Awards Admin's Choice Award for Drama at The Unknowable Room
1. Prologue

A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 for her suggestions and comments, and for being with me throughout this journey; and for Zarathustra, the fabulous beta, who graciously surrenders her time and talents to make my grammar, punctuation, and Brit-speak look good and read well! Also, thanks to remuslives23, Mistress of Smut, who constantly reassures me that I may have some modicum of talent...

**PROLOGUE**

**Thursday, 1 August, 1985—7:52 a.m.**

…_ithurtsithurtsithurtsit hurts it hurts. It hurts. It HURTS. IT HURTS. IT HURTS!!_

Pain exploded through his senses. His body had known it was there; his unconsciousness had kept it at bay. Now, as his awareness returned, so did the pain.

There was precious little he could do, with no wand and no potions. He couldn't even think straight enough to try something wandlessly.

Years of waking up after terrible monthly transformations, however, did help him to come to grips with his situation. He began with the easy stuff first. Yes, he knew _who_ he was and he knew _what_ he was. He even knew _where_ he was and _how_ he had gotten here. And – _damn_ it to the furthest gates of hell and back – he even knew _why_ he was here, though that was something he couldn't stand to think about right now. So, it came the next part: What exactly was causing the pain?

Start at the top, work your way down, was the barely coherent thought. His head hurt, and not just with the typical internal ache of no sleep, no food, and morning-after-transformation-hangover. But, as he raised his hand to touch his scalp, the fire across his shoulders and down his back demanded his attention. Forcing his eyes open, he turned his head slightly to the side. He could see six welts blazing red against his pale, scarred skin. Another turn of his head and several rapid blinks brought four stripes into focus on his other arm and shoulder. Not even two of them were parallel, so they weren't self-inflicted. Ten so far, then, and who knew how many more there were.

"Wolf." The voice was deep, the word spoken ever so quietly.

He ignored it.

His hand continued its journey to his head and met blood-stiffened hair just above his right ear. Tentative fingers felt a gash, but not very deep, and only about an inch long. Probably concussed, though he should be thankful his skull wasn't cracked all the way open.

"Wolf. Man." The voice was insistent, though still soft.

He turned his head to the right, peering through iron bars, into the cage on the other side of the aisle. Again, he blinked quickly, trying to clearly see what he knew to be a centaur.

He would've licked his dry lips, but there was no moisture in his mouth to do that, so he rasped, "Horse." After all, the centaur was being insulting; and he himself wasn't in the mood, at this moment, to be overly polite.

The centaur flicked his tail in annoyance.

The pain inventory continued. His right leg ached. Like he'd had a cramp in it all night long…

"I am to tell them when you awake," the centaur informed him.

_Not now! Not yet!_ His mind screamed the words, making the pounding in his head nearly unbearable for a moment. _Control; pull it together_. He lifted his hand in a halting gesture, and attempted to whisper, "Just give me a minute." He knew that not all the words were actually heard, but the meaning was obviously understood, because the centaur was silent.

He didn't want to meet them while he was still lying here, helpless. Could he sit up? He started to roll onto his side. Bone grated against bone, and somewhere deep inside his gut, tissue twisted in a way that it shouldn't. He flopped back onto his back, gasping with pain, and gritting his teeth. He had dealt with broken ribs before, and on other occasions, with internal injuries, so it was familiar — unwelcome, but familiar.

The centaur's whisper cut through the pain. "You must escape."

He couldn't help the sharp bark of laughter that scraped from his throat. Escape? Now? He was reasonably certain he couldn't even walk. His right leg _hurt_, damn it! Definitely some kind of pulled muscle. And his ribs…

"They mean to kill you," the centaur said quietly.

Upon thinking about it later, he'd come to realize that he had already known that fact. Right at this moment, however, the centaur had revealed something to him that he hadn't wanted to realize. And there was not a thing he could do about it in the condition he was in.

And so, Remus Lupin muttered: "Fuck."


	2. Chapter 1: The Werewolf Hunter

…ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts it hurts it HURTS IT HURTS…IT HURTS

A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 for her suggestions and comments, and for being with me throughout this journey; and for Zarathustra, the fabulous beta, who graciously surrenders her time and talents to make my grammar, punctuation, and Brit-speak look good and read well!

**Chapter 1: The Werewolf Hunter**

**Monday, 6 May 1985 — 3:42 p.m.**

Remus' fingertips brushed the spines of the books lightly, reverently. The smell of the bookshop permeated his senses, soothing him as nothing else could. Leather, ink, even mouldy paper — it was the best aromatherapy he could recommend for himself. He reached the end of one shelf, and continued around the other side, letting his fingers trail behind him, practically caressing the age-stained wood. The book he was looking for had to be around here somewhere.

A title of a well-loved book caught his eye, and he paused to consider it. With a sigh, he shook his head and continued on. It was too difficult for his two little pupils to read at this time. Maybe in a few months...

Ah, now this one was a likely prospect. He gently tugged the book from its place and let it fall open. The illustrations would appeal to Dominic, the nine-year-old, and the text was not too challenging for Isabelle, the six-year-old. And, even better, the cost was a few sickles cheaper than he would have expected to pay. He smiled with satisfaction as he closed the book and continued his search.

Several minutes, and several books, later, Remus heard a soft, but insistent clearing of the throat. Since he was now seated on the floor, his eyes first focused on legs and were drawn upwards until he recognized Candace, the youngest clerk at the booksellers.

"Mr Lupin, it's time for me to close up," she told him, with an apologetic smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late." Remus scrambled to his feet.

"Not to worry." Her smile became a little wider. "I know what it's like to get lost in a book."

"Yes, well, Mr Bartholomew would have tossed me out some time ago." Remus hurriedly, but gently, replaced the book on the shelf.

"Have you found something you like, then?" she asked, pointing to the stack of books on the floor next to where he had been sitting.

"As a matter of fact, I have." Remus sorted through the pile and handed her three that he felt were perfect for his students.

Candace glanced at the titles, and smiled her approval. "I remember these from when I was a child."

"So do I." Remus pointed to the topmost book. "I remember my mother reading this to me when I was four." His eyes had a mischievous gleam in them as he added: "I think she read it to me twenty times in three days."

They shared a chuckle, and then Remus started to shelve another book.

Candace touched his arm lightly. "Oh, no, Mr Lupin, I'll take care of that tomorrow morning."

Remus shrugged. "If you're sure…"

"Yes, I'm sure. Let's get these books written up for you."

She led him to the front of the store, to the tall maple reception desk that had stood there for one hundred years, if it had been a day. Remus always found it fascinating. No amount of polishing or buffing spells could completely smooth out its surface. Initials and names were etched in the tops and sides closest to the customers. On the clerks' side, orders that had been written on thin paper had drilled right through into the soft wood of the tabletop, leaving details of long ago transactions. One of Remus' favourites was an order that started, "One (1) book, Poetry for Wooing and Winning Witches". His favourite signature was one that read, "Simon — Bored to tears waiting for John — 1960".

Candace knew of his interest in the desk, and paused in writing up the receipt to lean over and point down to Remus' right. "There's one down there that I just found," she said. "It's quite cute. No, further down, just a little — yes, somewhere around there."

"Ah." Remus could see exactly which one she meant. Someone had written, "O.T.", and had made a smiley face out of the O. The smiley was animated, though, and kept sticking its tongue out at Remus.

"That's an interesting use for that charm," Remus laughed. "And someone took a bit of time to do this."

"I think it was Olivia Thornton," Candace said. "She's a clever girl, and she was in here for quite a while the other day, waiting for the rain to stop. Alright, that'll be three, six and two."

It was a shorthand she used in the shop, but only when Mr Bartholomew wasn't there. Remus couldn't understand the old man's distaste if of leaving out the words "Galleons," "Sickles," and "Knuts," though Candace had whispered to him that it was because Mr Bartholomew liked to hear how much he was making with each sale. He counted out his money and waited for Candace to wrap the books in brown paper.

"Oh, Mr Lupin, I nearly forgot —" Candace motioned for him to wait and retreated into the little office behind her. She had three books in her hand when she returned. "I know you like books about creatures and such. I found these and wondered if maybe you'd be interested."

A warm smile spread across the young man's face as he took them, and Candace blushed.

Remus was too busy looking down at the titles to notice her reaction. The first one he had already, and he told her so. "I recommend it if you don't mind having nightmares for weeks. The author has only one purpose — to keep everyone from sleeping."

She giggled.

"Ah, I've only heard of this one," Remus said, considering the second one. He leafed quickly through it. Did he have the money today? Regretfully, he handed it to her. "I'd love to have this one, but, unfortunately, today…" He hesitated.

She seemed to understand immediately. "Oh, it's no problem. If you'd really like it, I could save it back for you until the next time."

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before nodding. "If it's no trouble…"

"No trouble at all."

She really had pretty eyes. Deep brown, like dark chocolate.

The third book — surprised him. He stared at it for a long moment before the fact that she was speaking registered.

"I didn't know if werewolves were anything you were interested in or not," Candace was saying. "But I thought, seeing as they're creatures and all…"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, you'd think I would be, wouldn't you?" He opened the book to a random page and began to read: _"Werewolves in their human form can be readily identified by a sickly appearance up to a week before the full moon and…"_ He clapped the book shut and gave it back to her. "I have enough books about werewolves, I believe. It was very nice of you to think of me, though."

Again, her cheeks coloured. "I like to keep my eyes out for things that I think my… friends… will like."

Would she still consider him a friend if she knew he knew all the information in the werewolf book intimately? He felt a surge of anger and frustration. If only… then he'd be able to take her to dinner, maybe even fall in… No. He jerked his emotions back into line. "Thank you," he said quietly. He didn't allow himself to look into her eyes. Instead, he told her he'd be back in about a week to buy the other book, and then left the store.

Remus checked his watch and decided he had time for an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's before going to the apothecary's. The size of the crowd at Fortescue's almost made him reconsider, but as he drew closer, a couple rose from their table and left. No one else claimed the table, so Remus laid his books on the table and sat down. A young wizard rushed to clear away the dishes left from the previous customers.

"Sorry 'bout this, sir," he told Remus. "We're just a bit short-handed today."

"No problem." As Remus waited for the waiter to finish cleaning the table, he opened the package and pulled out one of the books. He could start planning his lessons for Dominic while he ate.

"I remember that book!"

Startled by the waiter's exclamation, Remus looked up. The teenager's smile was infectious. "Yes?"

"Yes! I loved that book. Especially the part where Ardis and Stanley finally meet the Grand Wizard of Pulla Pulla, and they —"

"Jerry!" The dishes in the teenager's hands rattled, threatening to fall. Florian Fortescue himself was suddenly beside the boy, grabbing one of the sundae glasses and steadying it. "You can discuss books later. For now, however…"

Jerry scurried off, and Fortescue smiled apologetically at Remus. As the proprietor started to go on to chastise another employee, his eyes fell across the title of the book. "Oh, is that what Jerry was talking about? I loved —" He caught himself in mid-sentence, and laughed ruefully. "I suppose I'm no better than Jerry when I see a book I enjoyed as a boy." He continued on his way, chuckling, to set the other employee to work.

Jerry returned to take his order, and soon, a bowl of creamy ice cream swimming in rich fudge and even richer caramel was placed in front of the young teacher. Remus propped the book up against the pole of the umbrella shade and proceeded to devour frozen treat and words with equal enjoyment.

A flash of Ministry robes out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he focused on the badge: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He nearly snarled aloud when he realized it was Walden Macnair: ugly moustache and all. The man was seating himself three tables away from Remus; but who was he with? The two families separating Remus from Macnair prevented the werewolf from identifying the other man.

Remus took another bite of ice cream and thoughtfully sucked on the spoon while scanning the other tables. There was a trick to watching someone: don't keep your eyes fastened in one place for too long; pretend you were thinking about something, anything else; be casual. And, if he laid his book on the table, like so, and shifted just a bit, ah yes. There was Macnair, perfectly in his line of vision. The other man had his back to Remus.

Sitting here like this made him remember an afternoon — the summer before Lily and James had died—when he had followed Macnair through the streets of the East End. There were rumours the man was a Death Eater, but there had been no evidence yet to support the claim. Remus had tailed him through alleys and down streets that a young man new to the Ministry, like Macnair, should have nothing to do with. He had nearly led Remus into a trap, but werewolf sensitivity had come to play: a scent, a whisper, and the scrape of a boot sole against concrete… Remus had been able to Apparate safely away without exposing himself to even one hex, but James and Sirius had still given him hell for going alone.

But that was four years ago. James and Sirius couldn't give him hell now if he followed Macnair right into the Ministry itself. Not that he intended to go that far…

The moustached man that Remus was surreptitiously watching abruptly rose. The other man did as well, extending a hand. As Macnair reached to shake his companion's hand, Remus just barely glimpsed a flash of white in the Ministry employee's hand. Parchment? He forced himself to remain relaxed, deliberately turning another page in the book and scraping some of the gooey sweetness from the bottom of the bowl still in front of him. When he risked another glance from beneath his eyelashes, the other man's hand was in a pocket of his robes, and Macnair was already starting to walk away from the table.

The other man turned slightly, and seemed to be checking to see if the exchange had been noticed. Remus' forehead furrowed before he could stop himself. The man looked familiar, and by the way his inner wolf's hackles were rising, it wasn't for a good reason. Where had he seen this man? He concentrated on reading a page from the book to get his control back. What could the paper have been? Hells, it could be something as innocent as a girl's name and Floo address. But just the way it had been tucked so deeply into Macnair's hand…

Remus realized that the man at the other table had sat back down in the chair and was motioning to a passing waiter. Setting his jaw in determination, Remus caught Jerry's eye as the teenager bustled past.

"Could I trouble you for a quick glass of water, Jerry?" Remus asked. "That caramel is so thick, it sticks in your throat."

"No problem, sir," Jerry replied. Again, he hurried off to do Remus' bidding. A house elf couldn't do better.

_Damn it._ Why was that man familiar?

Jerry walked by, placing a small glass by his right hand, and Remus dared to look up to thank the younger man. It was then he noticed another man coming towards Fortescue's — directly to the table where Macnair had been. The werewolf rubbed the back of his neck as the man sat down. There was no smiling or shaking of hands, so it wasn't as if they were old friends who just happened to meet. These were two men who knew each other, worked together perhaps, who had planned this meeting. Remus propped his cheek on his fist, holding the book up so that it looked as if he was absorbed in the pages. The two men were deep in conversation.

_Think, Remus,_ _think!_

A waiter approached the new arrival, but he shook his head. Not ordering anything, so they obviously weren't planning on staying much longer. Where would they go after this? Remus wondered.

He found himself resorting to another trick he'd learned in the Order: how to be ready to go as soon as your quarry ran without it looking obvious. Remus had mastered and perfected it. He caught Jerry's eye as the teenager moved among the other tables. One long finger, one quick gesture, was all it took to get Jerry's nod and the check.

"Hope you don't mind if I pay before I finish," Remus said with a friendly smile. "I have a tendency to forget to pay if my nose gets buried too deeply in a book."

Jerry laughed and ran for change.

One of the two families between Remus' table and the one he had been observing got up, and with a great deal of noise and bother, scooped up their packages, preparing to leave. The familiar-looking man glanced over at them, obviously irritated. Remus narrowly avoided meeting the man's gaze. The man had dark eyes. Hard eyes.

_Where had he seen those eyes? Damn it!_

He could feel his heart thumping almost painfully. What had he been doing when he had seen those eyes? The man was too old for them to have been at Hogwarts together. Had he been a Death Eater? No, that wasn't it. But there was something that made Remus think of death…_Oh shit._

Remus gulped down the rest of his water, half-wishing it were Firewhiskey.

He remembered. He remembered Sirius slapping the _Daily Prophet_ down in front of him one day in their last year at Hogwarts. He had read the title that Sirius was pointing to, and looked up with curiosity and a bit of fear.

"_Why are you showing me this?"_

"_Know th__y enemies, Moony, my lad, know thy enemies."_

"_You're sick, Black. Especially since the closest I've come to one of these men was because of you."_

Sirius had agreed, and had apologized again. But he tore off the front page and hung it on the wall next to Remus' bed. And though it gave him nightmares for three nights running, Remus had left it up, because, somehow, he wondered if Sirius wasn't right, that he should know these men—the four top werewolf hunters in Europe. And Macnair, from the Department of Magical Creatures, had just handed a piece of paper to one of those men in a most furtive way. _Shit! Are there werewolf names on that list? Is _my_ name on that fucking piece of paper?_

He saw Jerry returning with his change. Another quick gesture told the teenager that the change was his. Then Remus wrapped the books back up and sealed the package shut with a whispered charm. One last glance at the two men told him they were still intent on their conversation, so hopefully they wouldn't notice if a werewolf happened to casually stroll away from the ice cream parlour.

He took long strides to the Apothecary, occasionally pretending to window shop so he could watch behind him. No one seemed to be following him, but he wasn't ready to congratulate himself yet.

"You've done nothing wrong," he reminded himself. "They can't _legally_ do anything to you." But in the back of his mind were the horror stories that his parents had known but hadn't told him until he was older. There were the stories he himself had read in the _Prophet_, or in books. There were the things that Sirius had heard and related to him, stories passed down from one Black generation to another. And none of the stories had anything good to say. Charges could be falsified; the wrong man — wrong werewolf — accused and condemned. _Anything_ was possible, depending on the creativity of the werewolf hunter. Remus massaged the back of his neck, feeling the sweat forming at the nape.

Only one other time had he come face to face with a werewolf hunter, and that was right in the midst of the war, when his efforts with the werewolves had come under Voldemort's scrutiny. He had dodged a silver bullet that night, and it had shaken him to the core. He remembered going to Godric's Hollow and drinking heavily, though he hadn't told his friends why. He should have. They would have… He stopped the thought with a shake of his head. It didn't matter what they would have done. It didn't matter what he should have done. His only concern at this moment was to get to the Apothecary and get back to the Alatzas' before dinner.

He conducted his business at the Apothecary as calmly as he could. Fortunately, he had plenty of experience at that. He leaned nonchalantly against the counter so he could still see the front door and anyone who might happen by while he chatted idly with the older man behind the counter. He sucked on a peppermint drop from a bowl on the counter and handed another to a little girl who couldn't reach the bowl. The mother smiled at him as he did so, and he squashed the thought that she wouldn't smile at him like that if she only knew…

He smiled pleasantly as he paid for his items, exchanging final items of chitchat about the weather and the chances of Puddlemere United.

Acting composed helped him to feel that way, so he was unprepared when he stepped out of the shop.

_B__loody HELL! _

Remus was so stunned, he almost swore aloud. Too much of his life spent suppressing emotion, however, kept his mouth shut and got his feet moving. He took a quick left and headed to the Leaky Cauldron, away from the werewolf hunter, who was coming down the street with his companion from Fortescue's. Was it coincidence that they were coming this way? Nearly everyone did come this way at some point or another. The image of that bit of parchment in Macnair's hand, or whatever it was, taunted Remus cruelly.

Inside the Leaky Cauldron, Tom motioned towards a table, but Remus shook his head with a friendly wave. He continued on and out onto Charing Cross Road and into the crowd of Muggle Londoners. He took strides that were as long as possible, weaving around the shoppers and workers heading home, until he reached the head of a narrow alley that looked likely to serve his purpose. God only knew what was down the alley, but Remus was desperate enough to take his chance with whatever he might come face to face with. The alley turned to the left, leading behind the buildings fronting Charing Cross. Remus followed it, casting a wary eye around. Nothing. No people, no animals, not even a pigeon. With a small sigh of relief, he Disapparated.

**Tuesday, 7 May—6:52 a.m.**

There weren't many people with whom Remus communicated on a personal basis. He did some work for some researchers, but for the most part he had severed himself as much as he could from anyone who might have known him from — well, before. He had apparently done a fine job of it. He had taken a perverse delight when he had run into a girl he had known from Hogwarts, and she had looked startled and declared she had thought him dead at the Death Eaters' hands. Occasionally, Dumbledore or Alastor Moody would send him a note to ask how he was. Remus wondered, a bit resentfully perhaps, whether Dumbledore made his efforts because he pitied Remus, and if Moody was only trying to keep tabs on a werewolf who was just barely staying compliant with the Werewolf Registry.

Now he was glad that Moody had kept the lines of communication open. Otherwise, he'd never have dared to write to the veteran Auror to ask him about the werewolf hunter he'd seen in Diagon Alley, and to tell him of Macnair's actions.

An owl bearing an official looking envelope appeared at Remus' window the next morning before he'd even had the chance to get out of bed. Obviously peeved because it took several taps to wake the young man, the owl nipped at his fingers before hopping in and fluttering awkwardly to perch on the footboard of the bed and drop a Ministry envelope on the floor. There was another piece of parchment tied to the owl's leg.

"Sorry!" Remus snapped. "If I'd have known you were going to be here so early, I'd have left the bloody window open." The owl gave him a sceptical glance. An owl treat convinced the bird to allow Remus near him without a supercilious glare. A second one allowed Remus to stroke the owl's head. The second message was gained with the third.

"If you hang about, I'll probably have a reply," Remus told the owl. "And I'll have a tastier bit of breakfast, too."

The owl hooted quietly and settled back, closing its eyes.

Remus unrolled the parchment and scanned it quickly.

"_**Lupin—I have confirmed that Bernard Carmichael is in London, but I haven't heard why. The fact that Macnair was meeting with him makes me worry, so I'm not surprised it might make you downright panicky. Keep vigilant until Carmichael moves on. Stay in crowded areas, and don't, DON'T, for Merlin's sake, do anything that the Registry or Capture Unit might find upsetting. Moody."**_

The young man released a deep breath of frustration. This was nothing he hadn't already known, damn it. But he wasn't panicky, was he? If he wasn't panicking, why hadn't he opened the Ministry's letter yet? His heart beat heavily in his chest as he carefully opened the envelope. He scanned it quickly, feeling his fears fade away but his irritation grow. "…like to inform you that the werewolf, Remus J. Lupin… is scheduled for an annual interview and inspection, 22 May 1985…" Damn, damn, and _damn! _Dominic and Isabelle's parents had arranged a trip to Greece from the first full week of May to mid-June, and had announced that Remus would be going along with them. He hadn't even thought of the damned annual appointment. Could he reschedule? He wondered if they'd let him. _What was Carmichael doing in London? _

He grabbed Moody's letter and scrawled beneath the Auror's cramped script: _"__Have an appt. for Registry annual on 22 May. Think they'll let me reschedule and stay in Greece instead?"___

He dressed quickly and took the steps at the back of the house to the kitchen. This allowed him to avoid the dining room for now, and to cajole a few strips of bacon from the cook. He returned to his room, bribed the owl with a slice of bacon into accepting the parchment, and then shooed the bird off. He sat back in a comfortable armchair in the corner, making bets with himself that Moody would no doubt be vigilant with a return reply. No matter how soon the owl came back, though, Remus had too much time to think, putting together possibilities and probabilities and not liking any of it.

Indeed, in just a few minutes, the owl returned. He looked slightly disgruntled until Remus held up a second strip of bacon.

"_**Lupin, you're a bleeding idiot if you're even considering it. If your employer is behind it all, he could probably get you out of the country, but he can't help you if you miss that appointment. Can't you just Floo back for the day?"**_

"_I suppose I could. Who wouldn't want to leave warm, sunny Greece for wet, rainy, foggy London? Especially for an appointment in which one has to account for every minute of every full moon, and every scar."_He was too frustrated to realize how bitter he sounded. _"__Can you find out if Carmichael is supposed to be at the Ministry for the annuals?" _

The owl was definitely miffed this time, and Remus sacrificed two more pieces of bacon to appease him. He didn't expect the owl to return, so he tidied his clothes, ran a comb through his hair and headed down the grand front stairway to the dining room.

Dominic greeted him with an excited shout. "Mr Lupin! You have an owl!"

Sure enough, Moody's owl was perched on the back of his usual chair, hooting gratefully at Isabelle, who was holding out a kipper.

Remus ignored the bird's greedy gobbling and unrolled the parchment. "_**I don't like the path your mind takes sometimes, Lupin. I'll check on Carmichael. I'll also make myself available while you're here on the 22nd. What time is your appointment?**__"_

"Is there a problem, Mr Lupin?" Mrs. Alatza asked, watching Remus take the letter to a little desk in the corner.

"Oh, no, Mrs Alatza, not at all. I mean, well," Gods, he sounded as if he were an idiot. "There is a small problem. I have an appointment on the twenty-second of May, and there's no way I can break it."

"But we'll be in Greece!"

"I know. I can explain that to them, but it seems there's nothing I can do about it. Do you think I could Floo from there to here for that day? I should be able to return that evening."

She looked flustered, which was typical for any time that she was asked to make a decision on her own. "I don't know, Mr Lupin. I suppose we'll have to consult Mr Alatza."

Remus offered a nod in acknowledgment and turned to reach for the quill and ink. _"You, of all people, should know they expect me there at 9, and they'll see me when they have time. Don't worry. It should be fairly crowded there, and I'll be vigilant."_

He again sent the owl off and seated himself for breakfast. He and Dominic started discussing plans for the day when the owl suddenly returned. Remus' eyebrows lowered. What more was there to say? The bird was certainly wondering, because he again nipped at Remus' finger, drawing blood this time. The man barely resisted cursing aloud and hexing the creature into next week. "Bet you didn't do that to Alastor," he mumbled. The owl preened and hooted. 

"_**Don't be flippant, boy. I'll be around to keep an eye on you**__." _In a moment of what Remus shockingly realized to be something like fatherly affection, Moody had added, "_**Be a shame if we lost you now, after all you've been through. Especially to that slimy git Macnair and some bastard werewolf killer."**_

Page 10 of 10


	3. Chapter 2: The Ministry and Moody

**Chapter 2:**** The Ministry and Moody**

**Friday, 10 May, 1985—8:49 a.m.**

Werewolves were required to notify the Department of Magical Creatures when they were going to leave the Ministry's jurisdiction. Sometimes they had to report to the Werewolf Registry, sometimes to Werewolf Support Services. It varied with every policy change, sometimes even without it. Remus made a point of checking with both offices, just in case. Unfortunately, that also meant double the paperwork, and double the aggravation of having harried Ministry workers question his whole existence, much less the reason for travelling to the continent.

Remus left early on Friday morning for the Ministry, hoping he'd be back before lunch. He had left some reading and some math problems for his students to do, with the promise of charming a doll and several lead soldiers after his return to tempt them to actually do the work. The promise of some sugar quills also served as both reward and bribe.

He fought his anxiety and a hard, driving rain all the way to the Ministry and into the red telephone booth that served as the entrance. He kept his hands in the pockets of the long black coat he wore, one hand clutching his wand until his knuckles were white, the other hand clenched in a fist. He surrendered his wand to security readily enough, but he had never felt so defenceless. Surely, though, he could come to no harm here in the halls of the Ministry. Weren't there too many people who could provide evidence that he hadn't done anything, should Carmichael or Macnair come after him? Constant vigilance was making him paranoid, he thought with a snort.

No one was yet in the office of the Werewolf Registry when he arrived, so he wound his way through the hallways to Werewolf Services. A woman he had only seen one other time was there, just removing her cloak. She looked up, startled at his entrance.

"Can I help you?" Well, at least time she didn't flinch at the sight of the red W on his visitor's tag.

Remus leaned on the counter and gave her his friendliest smile. "I wanted to fill out the forms for leaving the country."

"Oh." She looked around her, a frazzled expression crossing her features. She carefully hung her cloak on a peg on the wall, and turned to look at him. "Are you sure you do that here? I think you do that over at Registry."

Remus shrugged. "I thought I'd do it both places. Saves a lot of hassle."

She looked at him as if he'd sprouted a horn in the middle of his forehead. "I don't even know if we have the forms."

He pointed to a tall cabinet in the corner of the office. "They were there, on the second shelf, the last time I did this."

"Oh." It took her several minutes, but finally she came over to the desk with three different forms. "Let's see… your name?"

He told her, and then gave her his Registry number without being asked, as well as his current address on St. James Street. Her quill hovered over the next section.

Remus said. "Owner of the property is Pindar Alatza, and his wife, Eleni. Two children live in the house, ages six and nine. Mr Alatza is aware of my lycanthropy. He has kindly provided a shed out at his country estate for my transformations that exceeds the distance from the house recommended by the Registry, and he casts the wards three hours before…" He stopped, aware that she had stopped writing and was staring at him. "Is there a problem?" He asked slowly.

"You know these forms better than I do."

Remus was silent. Inwardly, the wolf snarled at her stupidity. Outwardly, he betrayed no emotion. "When you've been through this as many times as I have, you get used to it," he finally said. He pointed to the next section on the form, directing her attention to it. "I will be travelling to Greece with Mr Alatza, his wife, and their two children." He paused while she scribbled in the information. "We will be gone from May fourteenth to June fourteenth. During that time, there will be one full moon, for which I will return with Mr Alatza…"

"Have you made secondary arrangements?" she interrupted.

Remus blinked. "Secondary arrangements?"

"Yes. In the case that your employer's shed is not available, or you cannot return to England, have you made arrangements with anyone in Greece?"

Remus straightened. "I've never had to do that before."

She motioned to a line on the form. "According to some addition to Article three, Section one, Subsection c, of the Werewolf Code of Conduct, you must have another plan in place before you travel. Or at least, that's what it says here." She turned the paper around so he could read it easier.

"Well, that's new," Remus commented under his breath.

"So, my guess is that you haven't made secondary arrangements."

"No, I haven't."

"Well." She reached under the counter, and struggled a bit to place a thick, over-sized book on the counter. "Let's look up Article three and see what it says."

The door behind Remus suddenly opened and another woman's voice exclaimed, "Can you believe that Simmons?" The door slammed shut. "Honestly, Margie, have you ever stood next to him in the lift? Good Lord, I swear he grows an extra set of hands."

"Jane," the girl behind the counter said loudly over the volume of the other woman's complaints. "What do you know about Article three, Section one?"

Remus watched the new arrival bustle between the desks, pausing just long enough to throw her cloak on a chair. He had seen her before, but over at the Registry office. She was one of the few people who seemed to have a sense of humour, and Remus always enjoyed seeing her. "Article three? Which part?" She suddenly took notice of the werewolf standing at the counter. "Oh, it's you." She came up to the counter and looked at the papers laying there. "Going on holiday, are you? Where are you going?"

"Greece, if you can make Article three, Section one, Subsection c disappear," Remus again leaned on the counter and gave her a lopsided smile.

She grinned back at him. "Let's see what we can do." She glanced over the form. "Mr Alatza has agreed to these arrangements for the full moon?"

Remus nodded.

"Well…" she hesitated. She glanced at Margie, who shrugged. "Is there anyone else, Mr Lupin, who could vouch for you? A Ministry employee, perhaps?"

He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Alastor Moody might." As long as he didn't mind being put in the middle of a werewolf/Ministry dust-up.

"Well, there you go, then," Jane said, grabbing a blank piece of parchment. Within minutes, she had composed a letter to the Auror asking for him to either come to the office or for confirmation that he'd vouch for one Remus Lupin, werewolf. She scribbled: "Alastor Moody, Level 2, Auror Headquarters" on the outside, whispered a charm, and watched it form itself into an airplane form and take flight. It flew past Remus' ear and headed for the closed door, where it banged into the glass repeatedly.

"If you'd please open the door, Mr Lupin?" Jane asked.

"Oh, right." Remus did as she asked, and the memo flew down the hallway.

"You might as well sit down until we get a response of some sort," Margie advised him. "You can sit in that chair behind you."

It was a typical wooden office chair: scarred from years of use and quite uncomfortable. Remus folded his arms across his chest and leaned his head back against the wall, wiggling a bit to find a less painful way of sitting. After a few minutes, he gave up the fight as impossible.

"Says here you're due in on the twenty-second for your annual," Jane suddenly said, referring to a chart on the wall.

"Yes."

"Are you planning on coming back for that appointment?" the woman asked. "Or are you wanting to reschedule that?"

Remus felt the muscles in his neck tighten. Should he? She had offered… "Would it be possible to reschedule?" he asked tentatively.

She shrugged. "I don't see why not. I can reschedule it here, and then you can pop into Registry and let them know."

Before he could say anything, the door opened and a shabbily dressed older man tottered in. "'Ey lasses, I've got me a problem, and they're sayin' it's _your_ problem…"

As Margie and Jane converged on the other werewolf, Remus took the moment to consider the offer to reschedule the appointment. She hadn't seemed to think it was problem, but Moody had been adamantly set against him rescheduling. Did Moody know something he didn't? If Carmichael weren't in London, would Moody's advice be different? He absentmindedly rubbed his neck.

The door opened again and a man in Ministry robes came in. The two women greeted him coolly and he laughed. "You don't seem happy to see me, ladies."

"I thought you were with Goblin Relations, Hennessey," Jane said, her tone acidic.

"I was, but apparently they felt I could — help — more over here." The man's sneering glance swept over Remus, making the werewolf stifle a snarl of challenge in response. "I hear it's like a zoo down here."

Oh, good, thought the werewolf, envisioning some sort of Ministry advertisement: "_Do you have a patronizing attitude? Do you have a superiority complex? Do you believe anyone not fully human to be Dark, and not fit to be treated with respect or dignity? Well, then, do we have a job for you in Werewolf Support Services! Stupidity not necessary, but will be considered an asset._"

He tried to stifle a snort of disdain-filled laughter, but didn't quite succeed. The former bane of Goblins turned quickly to glare at him. "Is something funny, wolf?"

Remus threw his hands up in a quick gesture of submission. "No, nothing. Just got something stuck in my throat, is all."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"

There were many things that Remus knew he could say, several more he _should_ say, and there was always the option of saying nothing. He had just made up his mind to say something like this was Werewolf Support Services, he was a werewolf, therefore, it followed that he needed supported (at which point he would ask if the man were going to do the servicing) when Alastor Moody shoved the door open. He had the memo in his hand.

"What are you up to now, Lupin?" His good eye glittered, though he spoke in his usual gruff manner.

Remus pasted the most innocent look he could on his face. "Me? Up to something?" He grinned, well, wolfishly.

Hennessey's hand suddenly lashed out and gripped Remus' arm. "Causing trouble, are you?"

Remus jerked his arm out of the man's grip. "No!" He exclaimed, startled at the man's reaction.

"Got the Aurors here, don't you?" Again the man reached for the werewolf.

Remus snarled, "Don't touch me!"

"Don't you —"

Moody wedged himself between the two men and shoved Remus, hard, back in the chair. It wasn't until then that the younger man realized that he had risen to his feet. The back of his head thumped painfully off the wall and he raised his hand to rub the sore spot. Hennessey saw the motion and, yelling something indecipherable, shoved Moody aside. His wand came up but Remus threw himself on the floor just as the beam of light flashed overhead. Pieces of plaster from the wall flew everywhere. Margie squealed in panic and the older werewolf dropped onto the floor in a heap, wrapping his arms over his head

"Hennessey, stow it!" the Auror shouted.

"He was going to —"

Remus shot to his feet. "I didn't —"

The Ministry worker pointed his wand at Remus again.

Moody shoved his arm down. "I said stow it! He hasn't done anything wrong! He doesn't even have his bloody wand with him!"

"Why are you here then?" the man yelled back.

The Auror glanced back at Remus, then slowly turned back to face the Ministry worker. "He's a friend of mine, and needed someone to vouch for him."

"You asked him what he was up to. I thought you —"

"You thought wrong. If he was causing trouble, I'd have brought the Capture Unit up with me, don't you think?" Moody then began lecturing the younger man about being vigilant and making incorrect assumptions.

In the meantime, Remus stayed frozen, but not just because he was afraid to make a move that would be misinterpreted by Hennessey. Had Moody just referred to him as a 'friend'? He didn't seriously consider Remus a friend, did he? Comrades in arms? Perhaps. Certainly something more than acquaintances; but… a friend? Well, bloody hell, what other words would fit? "Two allies, one of which wasn't afraid of the other (even if one was a werewolf) who both survived a war when everyone else around them had either fallen or had been imprisoned" was a bit of a mouthful.

Moody had turned to face him. "Now. About this memo…" He held up the bit of parchment.

Jane stepped closer to them, picking up the forms that Margie had started to fill out. She and Moody began to look over them while Remus brushed the white dust from the blasted plaster off of his robes. He stayed where he was, however. It seemed a bit safer there, especially with Hennessey glaring from where he had retreated behind a desk at the other end of the office.

"You're still determined to do this?" Moody asked him, peering over his shoulder at Remus.

The werewolf shrugged. "Mr Alatza wants his children tutored while they're in Greece."

Alastor stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "You know they can refuse to let you back in to the country."

"I realize that." There wasn't anything to hold him in England anyhow, and they both knew it.

"They can refuse to let you back for the full moon."

Remus sighed. "Then I will check with the Greek Ministry of Magic about what I should do. I doubt _this_ Ministry will refuse to let me back, though. If I don't have anyplace to transform, and I frighten (_terrify, _his mind supplied) someone there, or hurt (_kill_) someone there, the Greek authorities will blame the Ministry for not keeping closer track of me. That could touch off some horrible — what do they call it? — international incident."

Moody nodded. "True enough. Well, Jane, what do you say now?"

"I'll say he's cleared to go, BUT," she paused so she could scribble her signature on a line at the bottom of one of the pages. "You had better check in with the Greek authorities right after you get there. Just in case."

"So I really haven't gotten around Article three, Section one, Provision c after all, have I?"

"Actually, you have a bit." Jane motioned for him to come closer. "See, this part should be signed or you should have a letter from whomever you've made your secondary arrangements with. We'll just have Mr Moody sign it here instead, and it's all peaches and cream."

Remus couldn't help but raise his eyebrows a bit at her choice of phrase. Somehow, he would never consider anything as 'peaches and cream' when dealing with the Ministry; any part of it.

"Anything else, lass?" Moody asked, his magical eye focused on Hennessey, who was still sulking behind the desk.

"No, I think that will be all. The rest of these," she scanned down through the other forms, "are for Mr Lupin to finish."

Moody nodded and turned to Remus. "Let me have a word with you before I go."

They went out into the hall, Moody pulling the door firmly but quietly behind him. "I still don't like you going."

"What's wrong with going? I've been out of the country before and never had any trouble."

"In case you haven't noticed, what with Hennessey and all, things are changing again."

"They're always changing," Remus muttered darkly. "And never for the better."

"Exactly. There's talk about more reforms--"

"What's left to reform? Am I going to fill out forms every time I piss? Or get pissed?"

"Don't be flip, lad. There's always someone who has got it in for your kind, and right now, they're talking about tattooing you with some kind of traceable ink. To make it easier for the Capture Unit." Moody reached out and poked Remus on the shoulder. "There's also talk about making it illegal for werewolves to work with children under the age of ten."

Remus inhaled sharply. "How close is that to being passed?"

Moody's gaze was piercing. "Still talk, but closer than you'd like, I'm guessing. You really need to keep your nose clean, Lupin. Don't give them any chance to think you're as Dark as they believe you to be. They're looking for a reason to grab you up."

"I'm not the only werewolf in the British Isles." Remus pointed out.

"No, but you're one of the ones they're watching."

Dread and fear shot through him, leaving him cold. "What have I done to deserve that?" he asked as lightly as he could.

"Got through Hogwarts, first of all. They call you Dumbledore's pet werewolf, you know."

Remus swallowed hard. "No, I didn't."

"There are some here that have heard rumours about what you were doing in the war. Some still aren't sure which side you were on."

"But they'll let Macnair have a job in the Ministry, even though he was a Death Eater." Remus couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into his words.

"A _suspected_ Death Eater. There's a difference."

"Oh, yes. They suspect him. They know _so_ much more about me."

"Look, I'm not saying any of this is right. You did more for the Order and to frustrate Voldemort's plans than many. They aren't aware of all you've done, though. You need to be vigilant —"

"Constantly," Remus interrupted before he could stop himself, fidgeting with a thread hanging from the sleeve of his robe. He continued on before Moody could chastise him for not taking this seriously. "Is there any word about why Carmichael is in the area?"

"There are rumours that he's been hired to track down a werewolf who attacked someone in Bristol." The Auror hesitated for a moment before adding quietly, "I've also heard that you might be right in what you wrote yesterday."

He watched what little colour was in Lupin's face drain. "He's going to be here for the annuals?"

Moody eyed the younger man closely, suddenly realizing how shaken he was. "I've heard it's a possibility."

Remus' lips moved and his head jerked as if he had just spat an extremely vicious curse. "What's their reasoning?"

"A werewolf attacked someone."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that the knot there wasn't going to go away anytime soon. "If they know who it was, then why don't they just go find him?"

"They really don't know who it was."

"So how will they know who they're looking for?" In the back of his mind, Remus was remembering something he had been thinking yesterday: that accusation and condemnation was sometimes based on the creativity of the hunter. And as soon as that thought shot through his head, he realized that he had just put himself at the front of some imaginary list somewhere, by antagonizing Hennessey.

"That was one of the things I've heard."

"What else have you heard?"

"Not much more."

Remus' eyes narrowed. "But there is more."

Alastor shrugged. "All conjecture."

_Shit._ _A lot more._

"Look, lad, I'd love to stay here and talk to you some more about this, but I have to head over to talk to a man who's being accused of cursing his neighbour. If I hear anything else that I think you should worry about, I'll owl you."

_Wasn't all that enough to worry me?_

All the same, he thanked Moody, shook his hand, and then reached for the doorknob of the Services office.

"Lupin." Moody seemed strangely reticent all of a sudden. "If you have any trouble at all, either getting back into the country, or leaving it, you let me know. And as far as the annuals, like I said, I'll make a point of stopping in to see you."

"You don't have to do this," Remus said, very quietly. "Sticking your neck out for a werewolf is not going to go down well with your colleagues."

"Huh, bugger them all," Moody said with a snort. "You let me know if you need me."

There was little Remus could do or say, other than, "Right."

**6:15 p.m.**

Mr Alatza listened to what his young tutor had to say, but sat there unmoving and silent for several moments, staring at him. There had been several moments similar to this before, though, and Remus knew how to handle them.

"So, there is no way to reschedule this appointment on the twenty-second?" Mr Alatza asked.

"No, sir, there isn't." _Show no uncertainty. Be firm_.

"And the full moon is — when is it again?"

"The third of June, sir."

Alatza stood and went to the window. "Honestly, Lupin, I wonder sometimes if you're worth the trouble."

Gods, he'd heard that nearly every month for the past six months. "I know, sir." He'd be damned before he'd apologize for it, though.

"Now, now, don't get your back up. You've done wonders for Dominic's reading, and for Isabelle's temper." He jiggled some coins in his robe pocket and then stepped away from the window and back behind his desk. "Damned Ministry. Always poking their noses into places they don't need to be poking."

Remus smiled. The Alatzas had earned their considerable fortune in dealing with imported magical toys, and there had been many times they'd had to deal with one Ministry department or another. Very few of those occasions were happy ones for the Alatzas.

The older man flipped through an appointment book, stopping to consider a few pages carefully. "With some well-planned Apparition and Floo transport, you should be able to leave Tuesday evening to make your appointment."

"Yes, sir, and I should, hopefully, be able to be back by Thursday morning."

Alatza sat down, leaned back in his leather chair and looked at Remus over his steepled fingers. "What is this appointment for, if you don't mind me asking?"

When someone hired you knowing you were a werewolf, paid you well, and allowed you to stay in the same house as his young children, there were few things you should mind him asking, Remus had found. So, he answered the question that he might have shrugged off with anyone else. "It's an annual procedure in the Ministry. All werewolves — well, the registered ones — are required to come to the Ministry and submit to an interview and physical examination. They usually do them in May or June."

"What do they accomplish by this?"

"It helps them keep track of — us. They ask where we've been for the past year, record new scars." Remus shoved his fists deep into his robes so that Pindar couldn't see them. He couldn't help the sarcasm that tinged his words. "Of course, it also gives them the opportunity to make us submissive and all, to prove we have to do whatever the Ministry demands of us."

"Why would they record new scars?" Remus had to remind himself that Alatza wasn't asking to be nosy, necessarily. He honestly wanted to know. He had a werewolf in the house; it was his right to know.

"So that if a homeless werewolf dies on the street, or is killed by a werewolf hunter, they'll be able to tell who it is."

The merchant shook his head slowly and leaned his elbows on the desk. "You've got one hell of a bloody life, Lupin."

"I'm luckier than most," Remus said, figuring a little sucking up wouldn't go remiss.

"Hmm." Somewhere in the house, a bell rang. Alatza stood up and clapped his hands, smiling. "Well, then, that's settled. Let's go down for dinner."

**Tuesday, 14 May-****Monday, 27 May**

Remus' parents had taken their son to Greece not long after he had been bitten by Fenrir Greyback. They had heard rumours of a wizard who had been working on a cure for lycanthropy and took the chance. It, as well as hundreds of other leads, had been nothing but a pipe dream. Still, wherever they went, the Lupins had taken the opportunity to show their young son as much as they could about the culture, the architecture, and the wonders of the world. Greece was much as he remembered it, a place of warmth, friendly people, and magic. He found himself enjoying it even more because he was able to introduce new things to his two young pupils.

The Alatzas, being of Greek descent, had many Greek relatives, and they welcomed Remus into their home with as much enthusiasm as they did Dominic and Isabelle. Remus wasn't sure if Pindar Alatza had told them of Remus' condition, and wasn't going to ask. Especially when Pindar's niece, Alesia Alatza, kept casting glances at him beneath long, black eyelashes.

Within a week, Alesia made herself available as a sort of tour guide, and she and Remus would sit at night with a glass of retsina and discuss where to go the following day. Pindar said nothing to Remus about it, but, the werewolf could feel his employer's eyes upon him. He made a point not to touch Alesia or to laugh too loudly at her jests in any place where they could be seen by the family. He couldn't help it if Alesia slipped into his room at night and made him feel even more welcome; he wasn't about to refuse her hospitality.

The children didn't seem to notice if he and Alesia interlaced their fingers as they climbed over ruins and clambered over hillsides. They didn't seem to care if Alesia's eyes smouldered as she watched Remus. They merely seemed pleased that Remus was so conscientious of their cousin. They smiled when he threw his jacket over the smoothest rock for her to sit upon, guided her with sure hands through tunnels and doorways, or handed her the occasional flower that he had picked from beside the road.

Alesia was not pleased that he had to return to London.

"Stay," she pleaded the Monday before he left, as they lay in his bed, entangled in sweat- and sex-drenched sheets.

"I'll be back Thursday," he told her. "It's only for one full day."

"And two glorious nights," she grumbled at him, stroking his scarred chest with slender fingers.

He rolled over onto her and pressed his lips against hers fiercely. "Then let's make the most of this night."


	4. Chapter 3: Interrogation

**As always, thanks to SortingHat47 and Zarathustra for their criticisms, correcting, and constant cheer. Also, thanks to remuslives23 for providing me with Remus smut to get me through my rather dull life (you must check out "Too Old, Too Dangerous"!), and a rather large shout out to MahsaFF for an incredibly erotic chapter of her story "Had We Never Loved So Blindly" (I mean, the turns of phrase she uses in that story... Good Lord!)**

**Chapter 3: Interrogation**

**Wednesday, May 22, 1985**

Remus' trip back to London proved two things. Firstly, if something is going to go wrong, it will. Secondly, whatever is going to go wrong will do so at the time when you really, _really_ need it to go right.

He had intended to leave Greece in the early evening; but then he heard of the Alatza clan's plans for a formal dinner at a cousin's house that evening. Alesia had volunteered to stay home with Dominic and Isabelle, as well as two other small Alatzas, and her generosity had been well received — especially since everyone thought the young British tutor would not be there to distract her.

He knew he would be cutting things close by staying to eat a late starlit dinner for two with Alesia after the children had eaten and been chased off to play, but his desire to lick her fingers clean of the sauce from the Soutsoukakia was too much to be ignored. When he finally left, it was fully dark.

Unfortunately, because of the lateness of the hour, that meant that several public Floo-registered fireplaces were closed. And, worse, the Floos that were open weren't open to any Floos in Britain. At the Floos that he did reach, which were usually in pubs and taverns, it took several minutes of arguing and debating with at least two or three half-drunken idiots—in any language other than English—as to the best way to continue through Albania and Croatia, over to Italy, Switzerland, and then on into France. And that didn't include the discussions about Macedonia and Austria and other points in between.

He tried Apparating as much as he could, but he could only do so much when he was tired; not to mention he had no idea where to Apparate _to_. With splinching an ever-increasing concern, he continued his quest for open Floos all through the continent. When he finally reached Calais, the sun was rising. He thought about waiting for the ferry, but dared himself into attempting something rather stupid. After all, he had Apparated from London to Blackpool a few times, and from Hogsmeade to London — why couldn't he Apparate from Calais to Dover? It wasn't _that_ far… "Don't think about splinching your idiotic, knackered self," he thought, closing his eyes and trying to find a last reserve of strength for the jump.

Miraculously, he made it to Dover in one piece. Or at least all the important pieces were there. After pausing at a small café for a quick breakfast, he found a Floo that would take him from Dover to London. He decided to take the time to stop at the Alatzas' to change into jeans, his favourite T-shirt, and leather jacket before heading to the Ministry. It was bad enough to be a werewolf during these inspections, and one wearing wizard's robes seemed to get even more grief. Remus was definitely not ready to bring any extra attention to himself today. _Get in, get out is the plan_, he thought, pulling on a pair of leather boots that ended just above his ankles. Not probable, he knew, but he could hope.

None of the Werewolf Registry personnel were there yet, but four other werewolves were sitting outside the door already waiting. He lowered himself to the floor next to the others, leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes with weariness.

"Too bloody good to talk to us," mumbled one of the other men.

"Too bloody tired," Remus contradicted him gently without opening his eyes.

"Out howling at the moon last night?" another asked. The others snickered.

Remus smiled. "No. I was travelling. Took me hours to get here."

"Ooh, on holiday, were you?" There was no disguising the slightly nasty edge to the first man's question.

"As a matter of fact, no. It was a sort of — business trip."

"How about that? 'A business trip.'"

"What kind of business?" the teenager sitting next to Remus asked.

Remus couldn't help smirking. "Business involving a beautiful Greek girl who knows how to make me howl."

The other men laughed in appreciation, and he felt the tension in the air dissolve. It was the same thing every time. Don't get too serious, don't act superior, and _never_ let the others know you have a job.

"I need to be running with you, then, mate," the boy next to Remus decided. "Name's Ronnie Marclay."

The young teacher opened his eyes, and reached to shake hands with Ronnie. "Remus Lupin."

"I think I've heard o' you," the second man said slowly, his eyes narrowed.

"Probably nothing good," Remus commented with a sigh.

He sat quietly, listening to the conversations between the other men. There were the usual complaints about not being able to find work or keep a flat; though the second man, Davey, had recently found work at the docks with the Muggles. "They don't mind none if you miss a night or two. They all do, some point or 'nother. Drinkin', you know."

Two more men shuffled down the hall, along with a woman who had obviously been walking the streets for longer than Remus cared to think about. The woman sat next to Remus, and the cheap perfume she wore nearly made him gag. For the sake of keeping his breakfast down, he turned quickly to Ronnie and asked him questions about his family.

Talking to Ronnie passed the time until the first two Ministry workers came down the hallway. They stepped around the werewolves seated against the walls, barely keeping their sneers to themselves.

"I hate these things," Ronnie whispered, his eyes dropping when one of the Ministry workers looked down at him.

"How many have you been to?" Remus asked in the same quiet tone; he had refused to lower his eyes.

"This is my third. How about you?"

"Gods, you don't even want to know," Remus replied with a dry chuckle.

"Does it get any easier?" Ronnie asked.

Remus hesitated, and then shrugged. "Parts of it do."

"Which parts?"

Before Remus could answer, another Ministry employee came down the hallway. "All right, you lot, let's get you in this room down the hall here, so that no one is tripping over you."

They were escorted into a room two doors down which obviously served as a kind of meeting room, judging by the long mahogany table and the twelve chairs surrounding it. The Ministry worker transfigured the large table into a smaller table and conjured two more chairs. "Someone will be in with some forms. You can start filling them out while you wait."

"What time is it?" Ronnie asked Remus as they each picked up a chair and moved it against the wall.

"I'm not certain, but it's probably around nine." Remus raised an eyebrow at him. "Why? Have a girl waiting for you?"

"My appointment is set for nine," Ronnie said. "I was hoping to get in and out of here fairly quick."

"Mate, after doing this for two years already, you should know it's never that easy, and it's certainly never that quick," Remus told him. "They count how many registered werewolves there are, and then they divide that number by five, for the five days of the week. Then they draw lots or something to determine what day you're supposed to show up. _They_," he waved an impatient hand at the wall in the direction of the Registry Office, "schedule half of them for nine, the other half for two, and then pick and choose what order to take you. They might take you according to how soon you got here, or by alphabetical order, or if you're wearing the right colour trousers."

Ronnie looked confused, then absolutely worried. "I don't remember it being that way before."

"Oh, trust me. It was," Remus muttered.

Jane, from Werewolf Services, suddenly came barging through the door, her arms filled with papers. She let them cascade onto the table, and then conjured a cup full of Muggle pens. "All right, everyone. The interview teams are here, and the healers are on their way, so we're going to get started. Everyone will need to fill out Forms thirty-one A, ninety-six B, and ninety-seven A. After that, you can just hand them to me, and I'll let them know you're ready. So, if you please…" She started sorting through the papers, stacking the required forms so that it was easier for everyone to pick up the three that they needed.

Remus received a smile from Jane when he approached the table. "There you are! I thought you were going to reschedule?"

"I thought better of it," he told her.

"How do you like Greece?" she asked. She sounded wistful.

Remus thought of Alesia. "It's wonderful."

"Good," Jane said. It looked as if she was going to say something else, but was distracted by the female werewolf. "No, no, honey. You have two of the Form ninety-six Bs. You need one of these…"

Remus grabbed a pen and headed back to his chair, where Ronnie was staring at the Muggle writing implement with wonder. "How does it work?" he asked.

"Like this." Remus reached over and clicked the button on the top. "Now you write."

Ronnie eyed it suspiciously. "Where's the ink?"

"It's in a little tube inside." He started to write with his own pen, knowing that Ronnie was watching him carefully. "They're easier to use than quills. I'm surprised the Ministry didn't use them before this."

Ronnie clicked the pen several times before finally putting the tip to the paper. He stopped often to marvel at the black letters that appeared as if by magic. "I've never had to finish these forms on my own before," Ronnie admitted, once the novelty of the pen wore off and he started concentrating on the actual questions. "My dad was always with me before. Because I wasn't seventeen yet."

"Welcome to the adult world of lycanthropy," Remus wanted to say. Instead, he said, "I remember the first time I had to do this without my parents. Just think of it this way: you do it on your own this year, next year you'll know you survived it once, and you can do it again."

Ronnie regarded him with wide brown eyes. "You know, I hadn't thought of it that way. Thanks."

Surprisingly enough, Ronnie was the second one that they called. Remus wished him luck as he nervously followed Jane out of the room.

"You shouldn't have lied to the boy," came a voice from Remus' right. He turned his head slightly and saw the man who had been accused him of being too good for the others. "Telling him it'll be better next year." The man made a scoffing sound. "It's never better the next year. They keep changing the bloody rules and regulations."

"And does it help us to know that?" Remus asked. "No. We still come in every year, hoping things will be a little better, a little more organized, a little more fair. It never is. Why destroy what hope is left?"

"All hope was gone the moment we got bit," the other man said. "I don't expect it to be better the next year. And I saw your face when you were feeding him that shit. You don't believe it either."

Remus considered his words carefully before he spoke them. "Maybe that's true. But we all need something to get through this whole bloody thing, and if hope is all he has, then I'll feed it to him. If hatred or anger or resentment, or even resignation, gets us through it, then we'll take it however we can."

"You sound as if you're fucking Socrates or something."

"What can I say?" Remus shrugged. "It gets me through."

The man stared at him for a moment, and then finally chuckled. "Guess I can consider myself told." He sat back in his chair, ready to ignore Remus all over again.

Two more werewolves were called out. Several others had come in, and they heard the same speech from Jane that the rest had heard before. Three more women were now in the room; one of them looked to be in her fifties. Remus stood up and offered her his chair, and grinned at her surprise. He settled on the floor beside her, leaning back against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles. This was actually more comfortable than the chair, he thought, letting his eyes close and his mind drift. Alesia was foremost in his mind, and he devoted his thoughts to her and her soft, silky skin, and her dark auburn hair.…

"Remus Lupin."

The voice tore through his dream, and the fragments melted. He blinked rapidly to bring his eyes into focus. Hennessey was standing in the door, smiling in a way that brought Remus to full awareness immediately. He hurriedly started to rise, but only got to his knees before Hennessey levelled a wand at him. "Stay, wolf!"

Two men wearing Werewolf Capture Unit badges pushed past Hennessey, their wands already drawn.

Remus couldn't have drawn a breath if he wanted to. His father's voice reverberated in his head…

"_Remus, if the Capture Unit would ever come for you —"_

_His mother had cried out, "No, John, don't! He's too young! He's only eleven!"_

"_He has to know this. Remus, your life could depend on this —"_

And so Remus did exactly as his father told him to do all those years ago after watching some Muggle television show. He stayed on his knees and held his hands slightly out to the side, palms out so they could see there was nothing in them.

The people on either side of him scrambled to get as far from him as possible. No one screamed or protested; they had all seen this before. The best thing to do was just distance yourself from the one the Capture Unit had declared guilty, and breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn't you this time.

"Remus J. Lupin, you are accused of violating the Werewolf Code of Conduct, Article three, Section one, Subsection c, and are to be taken in for questioning."

His heart was thumping so loudly, he found it amazing that he actually could hear what the man was saying. Still, he was not going to let the bastards see that he was frightened. And he wasn't so scared that he wasn't able to rapidly sort through his options. "I have the right to ask for someone to speak for me," he said as calmly as he could.

The two men wearing Capture Unit badges were now on either side of him. "Will you come willingly?" the one asked harshly. Hennessey was now only a few feet away, looking down on him with an evil grin as if he was just waiting for Remus to say or do the wrong thing.

"Yes," Remus replied, swallowing hard. "But, I would like —"

Hennessey snarled, "It doesn't matter what you like, _wolf._" He inflicted the last word with as much venom as he could.

"I do still have a right or two left," Remus snapped. "Regardless of what you might think. Or want, for that matter."

That was very definitely a mistake.

**10:24 a.m.**

He came to with a gasp, feeling the sting of a _Rennervation _spell. It brought him to full consciousness, but there was a terrible disorienting moment when he couldn't place where he was or why he was there. It was a small room with only a small table along the wall to his right, and the door to his left. He was sitting uncomfortably in a wooden straight-legged chair with his arms bound behind him. There was a chill in the air, and he realized they had removed his jacket. Two other chairs were in front of him, though only one was occupied by a man in Ministry robes. The sight of a WCU badge on those robes brought everything back to him in a rush. And then he felt the burning around his wrists that told him they had chained him in silver.

The man sitting in the chair spoke. "Now, Lupin, if you're ready to be cooperative —"

He clenched his teeth to keep from saying that he had never been _un_cooperative.

"You are accused of violating Article three, Section one, Subsection c, stating that all werewolves must notify the Ministry when they plan to travel to another country outside the Ministry's jurisdiction, and must have two plans in place for full moon transformations. Witnesses say you recently travelled to Greece, on the fourteenth of May, to be precise, and had no secondary arrangements made. How do you plead?"

"I'm not pleading anything," Remus said, casting a sidelong glance at a wizard who had moved into his peripheral vision on his left. "I'm not on trial. And I'm not answering any questions until I have someone here to speak for me."

"In certain circumstances, a werewolf's rights can be revoked if he is considered hostile or uncooperative," snapped the first WCU goon. "You're not being very cooperative, are you?"

"I'm not being _un_cooperative," Remus countered. "I just want —"

"You're in no position to ask for anything," the second Ministry idiot, the one standing on Remus' left, said. "Now. Did you, or did you not, leave the country without secondary arrangements in place?"

"Yes, but there…" Remus was interrupted almost right away by someone behind him.

"So you admit that you broke Ministry law by —"

"I'm not admitting anything."

"You just said that you left the country without secondary arrangements in place." The man was wearing something that was new leather. By the overwhelming scent, it had to be something big, like a coat.

He tried to turn his head to look at the man. "I was told that — OW!" He couldn't stop the exclamation from escaping; he hadn't expected to be cuffed on the side of the head as if he were a first-year who had just given McGonagall lip. Not that she would have cuffed him — she would have assigned him detention. Something like cleaning the Transfiguration classroom floor with a toothbrush, or some such thing.

"Were you notified of Subsection c before you left the country?"

"Look, I came in to fill out the paperwork. I was then told about it, which was a surprise to me."

"Watch your tone, Lupin."

A muscle in Remus' jaw twitched as he fought not to say the words he was actually thinking. Instead, he said, enunciating every word carefully, "My primary arrangements have always been enough up to this point. The Services worker took that into consideration and told me that I could use someone from the Ministry to validate that my primary arrangements would be sufficient. I suggested Alastor Moody. He came down, we discussed it, he signed, I left. Everyone at Services thought it would be acceptable. I went over to Registry and did the same thing, though they didn't ask me about secondary arrangements."

"What do you mean, they didn't ask about secondary arrangements?" demanded the man to his left, who had badly pitted skin, as if from a cauldron explosion.

"What do you _think_ I mean? I said exactly what I meant. They asked how I was going to provide for the full moon. They asked if I could have Pindar Alatza send a letter verifying all the information I gave them. He did. But at no point did they ask me what my secondary arrangements were."

"Did you fill out Revised Form twenty A there?"

"I don't know what the bloody form's number was. I just filled it out."

"Is this the form?"

The man behind him handed something to the man to the left, who then held it up for Remus to see. The werewolf scanned it quickly. "It looks… Wait. No, that isn't it. That isn't the form I filled out in Registry. That is the form I filled out in Services. The one in Registry didn't have the bottom part."

"Why did you go to both offices?" the man sitting in front of him suddenly asked. You only have to go to Registry to do it."

"Because it seems to change every bloody time," Remus explained impatiently. "I was trying to save myself the hassle of getting arrested for not going to the right office in the first place."

"You would have saved yourself a lot of hassle if you had filled out the right damned forms."

"Well, if your people would have handed me the right damned forms in the first place, we wouldn't be having this discussion!" Remus snarled, leaning forward. The silver chains were suddenly twisted tighter around his wrists, and he gasped involuntarily at the fire that blazed through his arms.

"If you can't control your temper, Lupin, we'll resort to harsher restraints," warned the leather-wearing man behind him. His breath was hot on Remus' neck.

"I think that's what he wants," said the scarred man, his lips twisted in a smile.

"I have the right to ask for someone to be here if I'm being questioned," Remus said hoarsely, suddenly remembering that fact again and thinking it might be a good thing. "In fact, according to the Werewolf Code of Conduct, I am _required_ to have someone here."

"You're going to quote the Code to _us_?" the man in front of him asked in disbelief.

Remus took a deep breath. Losing his temper would not help his situation, which was not improving anyhow, not even the tiniest bit. Still, there seemed to be nothing he could say that would not anger them further. "I would not presume to do such a thing," he began. "I am merely pointing out that, as a werewolf, my word means nothing unless I have someone to speak for me."

"And who will you request? Dumbledore? Moody?" the man sneered.

"Either one will suffice," Remus replied calmly.

"You think either one of them has time for someone like you?"

Remus shrugged. "I can hope."

The man behind him made a harrumphing sound and then said, "Gentlemen — a word?"

They went out of the room. Remus turned his head to see who the man behind him was: long leather coat, just as he thought.

There was a sickening lurch in his stomach as he realized it was Carmichael.

_Now what?_ Just for something to do, he twisted his wrists within the bindings. Definitely too tight to slip over his wrists, even as bony as they were. The burning was deepening. Remus closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the top of the chair. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. There was obviously no way out of this unless they let him go. Pindar Alatza was _not_ going to be happy. Neither would Alesia.

The door opened, and another Ministry worker entered, along with Carmichael. The werewolf hunter again moved to stand behind him. Remus suddenly wondered if the man had a silver dagger in his sleeve. He couldn't help the shudder that went through him. He thought he heard Carmichael give an amused snort.

"Mr Lupin, my name is Mortimer Higgins. I understand there is a problem."

"So they say," Remus said cautiously.

"You left the country without having secondary arrangements in place?"

"I did, but —"

"Well, then, what is the problem? Obviously, you've broken the Code, and Ministry Law."

Remus tried to forestall this whole conversation with the only argument he could think of, and to his way of thinking, the most degrading. Still, it had chased the Ministry workers out of the room earlier…. "Mr Higgins, with all due respect, the Werewolf Code of Conduct requires that I have someone here to speak and act for me. Someone fully human, that is."

"I know that, Mr Lupin." Higgins obviously didn't appreciate the fact that Remus brought that up. "I was hoping that we could clear this up without having to trouble anyone else."

"I'm sure it would be no trouble —"

Remus felt the chains twist into his arms, and he hissed at the surprise of it. "You don't seem to understand, Lupin," Carmichael said calmly into his ear. "We're not calling anybody for you. You're going to answer whatever questions we ask, and that's all there is to it. Understood?"

The werewolf glared at Higgins. "I've done nothing to deserve this."

"You're going to have to let us be the judge of that, won't you? After all, you've been Stunned once by a Ministry worker. There are some that might say you've given us plenty of reasons to have deserved worse."

Remus had always known when it was better to submit than to fight. He didn't like it, but what choice did he have? Something in his expression must have pleased Higgins, because the man smiled.

"Now that you've decided to cooperate, Mr Lupin…" _I haven't decided to cooperate; I'm being __forced_ _to_ _capitulate_. "Maybe you can tell me why you decided to leave the country knowing you were in violation of Section one of Article three."

"I didn't _know_ I was in violation —"

Higgins waved a hand dismissively. "Semantics, Mr Lupin."

"But that seems to be the problem," Remus began, trying to move his forearms so that the silver wasn't resting in the same place.

Carmichael grumbled something, and the younger man tensed.

Higgins shook his head slightly. "Alright, Mr Lupin, why don't you tell me then why you did not know you were in violation of the law?"

The werewolf sighed. "I was told by the Ministry —"

"Who in the Ministry?"

He knew Jane's signature was all over the documents, but it wasn't going to be he who mentioned it. "Whoever it was that helped me fill out the forms." He shifted his shoulders to work out a kink that was beginning to develop.

"What was her name?"

Oh, hell, they knew, but Remus had never been one to be a tell-tale. "I don't remember."

"You know we'll find out."

Remus shrugged. "Find out, then." The kink screamed at him not to shrug again.

The man jerked his head up and gave a sharp look at Carmichael over Remus' head. The younger man braced himself for more pain. Nothing happened. Slowly Higgins lowered his eyes until he was looking at the werewolf again. "Did the Ministry worker tell you about Article three, Section one?"

"The one in Services did, yes, but not —"

"You left the country without secondary arrangements, Mr Lupin. It seems quite clear to me — and everyone else, I might add — that you deliberately —"

"I was told," Remus said slowly, patiently, "that if I got a Ministry worker to vouch for me, I could satisfy the requirements." He shifted in his seat. "When I got to Greece, though, I did talk to their Ministry about my lycanthropy, and they gave me information about where I could transform if my original arrangements didn't work out."

"Why didn't you talk to someone in the Greek Ministry _before_ you left? Why didn't you just owl them, and get them to fill out the necessary forms?"

"I've never been known for doing what's obvious," Remus muttered.

"What was that?"

The young man shook his head. "It didn't seem that obvious at the time. I came in to fill out the forms. The secondary arrangements thing surprised me. I didn't know how long it would take to get any kind of response from the Greek Ministry, and frankly, I couldn't take another day off from my employer to come back here to fill out more forms. I was given the option of using a Ministry worker to vouch for me. I asked Alastor Moody, and he agreed." He shrugged. "I thought everything was settled." No doubt about it: the ache in his shoulder was definitely becoming more painful. He sucked in a deep breath, trying not to react to what was becoming agony in his wrists.

"Except for the fact that you left the country with the full knowledge that you were in violation."

"No," Remus objected. "It was _not_ with full knowledge. When a Ministry worker tells me that I can do something, I tend to question it. When _two_ Ministry workers, one of them a veteran Auror, tell me I can do something, I tend to believe it."

Higgins shook his head slowly. "You should have known, Mr Lupin —"

"Known _what?_" The kink was now officially a cramp, and was not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

"Mr Moody is a well-respected Auror, but he is not the leading authority of the Werewolf Code."

"But Aurors have to know the current laws and provisions and whatnot, don't they?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner. "Otherwise, how would they know who to arrest and all?"

"Mr Lupin, there is no reason for that attitude."

"I haven't even begun to give you attitude," Remus said. He would have crossed his arms across his chest at that point, but seeing as they were still fastened behind him…

"Told you he was uncooperative," Carmichael growled.

"I resent that," Remus protested, glancing over his shoulder. "I've answered all of your bloo— questions."

"But your tone, Mr Lupin, is not — conducive," Higgins said firmly.

"Forgive the bloody hell out of me, then," Remus snapped. James would have laughed, but told him to be cautious. Peter would have squeaked and told him to be quiet. Sirius would have cheered and told him — no. Don't think about what Sirius would have said.

Damn, his shoulder was cramped, and his wrists were on fire…

Carmichael stepped into his peripheral vision. "When's the last time you were in Bristol, Lupin?"

Remus' breath caught in his throat. He knew where this was heading. He remembered Moody's comment about a man being attacked in Bristol. He remembered his own thoughts about werewolf hunters needing to be creative in their accusations. Carmichael was a top werewolf hunter; he was, more than likely, very creative. "I haven't been to Bristol since I was fifteen or so. Why?"

"What's your wolf pelt like?"

"What's that got to do with me leaving the country?" countered Remus. Pain was forgotten with the onset of bone-chilling fear.

The two other men exchanged glances and Higgins took over again. "A man was attacked in Bristol this past full moon. We wonder if maybe you knew anything about it."

"Considering I was locked in a shed outside Reading during the last full moon, I rather doubt it was me."

"Who can verify you were there?"

Remus had had enough of this. He was tired and frightened, his shoulders hurt, and his wrists were burned — to the bone by the feel of it. "Well, I suppose no one can. Pindar Alatza locked me up into the damned shed and came back in the morning to let me out. I have no recollection of him coming to get me, because I was a little bit unconscious at the time, due to my damned self-inflicted injuries. Though, of course, maybe the man in bloody Bristol scratched and bit _me _trying to bloody defend himself."

He was starting to enjoy the look of shock and disbelief on Higgins' face. "I really have no bloody way of knowing, and I doubt very seriously that Mr Alatza stood outside the shed all night, since he has a lovely wife and family at home. I guess anything _he_ might tell you would be of no bloody help to you. So, if you're going to fucking arrest and execute me for attacking someone, then for Merlin's sake, get it over with already. If not, let's continue this _bloody _ridiculous discussion about my leaving the country —"

Higgins nodded suddenly, and Remus was yanked to his feet. His arms and the chains snagged on the back of the chair, scraping the flesh of his forearms and making the chains dig in deeper. He gritted his teeth, determined not to make a sound. Gryffindor pride, he thought. Too bad his Gryffindor knees wouldn't support him: he staggered into Carmichael.

The werewolf hunter shoved him against the wall and raised his wand.

"Oh, shit," Remus sighed.

**Ah... another chapter over... Won't you please review? For the sake of my sanity?**


	5. Chapter 4: Alastor Moody

Chapter 2B

A/N: As always, my humble thanks go to Zarathustra and SortingHat47 for their patience, suggestions, comments, and corrections.

**Chapter 4: Alastor Moody**

**Wednesday, 22 May, 1985—5:10 p.m.**

Minutes crawled to the point that hours were nonexistent. Remus had paced the length and width of his cell at least eight hundred times, he guessed; he had lost count somewhere around four hundred eighty. His demand for representation, for his right to send an owl, even his simple request to get Alastor Moody — all were denied.

He didn't bother to ask if he could have any salve for his burned wrists. They probably would have just given him something with silver nitrate or aconite in it.

There was a small window set into the top of the wall, and he watched as the sunlight disappeared. Was it raining? Or was the day drawing to a close? A Ministry worker in maintenance department robes hurried past his cell and he tried to ask what time it was, but the man gave him such a look of loathing and fear that he didn't even finish the question.

He finally dozed with his back against the wall, awakening only to curse his temper, the Ministry, and Carmichael. And would there be any harm in bringing him a glass of water? And what bastard had his jacket?

A door slammed somewhere down at the end of the hall, but he didn't bother to look up. It was probably another Ministry worker sent to look at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Got yourself Stunned, did you, Lupin?"

Both of Alastor Moody's eyes were fastened on him; the magical eye was alarmingly still.

"I was tired and didn't much care at that point what I said. It was stupid," he admitted.

"Took me a hell of a lot of talking to convince them you weren't one of them boys who're following Greyback."

Remus sighed. "I can only imagine."

Moody rested his forearms on a horizontal bar and leaned on it casually. "Sarcasm is apparently one of those things that werewolf hunters aren't particularly keen on."

"I noticed."

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"Sufficiently." Remus couldn't help the grin that suddenly developed. "At least for now."

Moody snorted then reached for his wand. He made a short, jabbing motion and the tumblers in the lock clicked. "I sent a note to Alatza for you," he told Remus.

"Saying what, precisely?"

"That you'd had some trouble with the Ministry, but I'd have you back in the morning." Moody pulled the door open.

Remus groaned, thinking of having to Floo back to Greece in the same manner that he had come back to Britain. Another sleepless night on top of everything today…

"I've arranged a Portkey for you." Moody motioned for him to move. "Or rather, I've arranged for you to tag along on a Portkey that someone is taking to Athens tomorrow morning."

The werewolf slowly got to his feet. "I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll listen to me the next time I tell you not to give the WCU reason to notice you. Now come on."

"What time is it?"

"Time for a bit more unpleasantness." The Auror slammed the door shut behind him. "You came back for the annuals, and you haven't had yours yet."

"Damn."

Moody started to limp along the hallway toward to the door. "You're going to get yourself arrested if you don't get this done today, you realize."

Well, he realized it now that the older man had pointed it out. "They're really out to get me, aren't they?"

"They're out to get any one of you idiotic enough to cross them." Moody glared at him meaningfully.

Remus was silent as Moody escorted him from the second floor to the fourth.

"Do I need to remind you to bite your tongue?" Moody asked as the lift door opened.

"No, sir. Absolutely not, sir."

The Auror gave him a sharp look, which softened almost immediately. "Good lad," he said with a soft chuckle.

They went down the hall to the Registry Offices. Doors on either side of the hallway were closed up tight, and the windows dark, so Remus knew it was past time to go home. Dinner time, his stomach reminded him noisily. He noticed Moody's sidelong glance, but ignored it. He had to prepare himself for whatever ordeal lay in front of him now.

There were still two other werewolves waiting in the makeshift waiting room when Remus walked in. Jane had been replaced by Margie, whose face brightened when she saw Remus.

"Mr Lupin! Jane told me to watch out for you. Here." She reached under the table and withdrew his jacket. Glancing around quickly, she leaned closer to him. "She took it when they took you downstairs. Hennessey," her lip twisted with disgust, "was going to take it with him. Jane grabbed it when he wasn't looking."

Remus took the jacket and thanked her, telling her to thank Jane as well. The werewolf's fists clutched the jacket tightly, so much so that the thing would have suffocated, had it been alive.

Margie excused herself to get back to work, and Remus and Alastor seated themselves.

"That's a nice jacket, Lupin," Moody observed.

"Yes," Remus replied curtly.

The Auror gently rubbed the collar between his thumb and finger. "Good leather. Was it a gift?"

A muscle in Remus' jaw twitched. "Yes."

Moody peered at him expectantly. "Are you going to tell me who gave you the thing?" he asked finally.

"James and Lily got it for me for my birthday. Peter and…Sirius…also chipped in."

Moody was saved having to say anything because Margie came back in the room and called Remus' name. Remus turned and suddenly thrust the jacket at Moody. "Would you…?"

The Auror nodded. "And I'll be waiting out here for you, lad. I'll make sure everyone knows it, too."

Remus turned away before the older man could see the relief and fear in his eyes, but knew the Auror could hear his whispered, "Thank you."

**6:26 p.m.**

As far as interviews and physicals go, this one was somewhat less awful than most. Remus wondered how much of it was because the interview team and the healers were as anxious to go home as he was. They were even kind enough to heal the blistering on his wrists from the silver chains. Still, it was a little over an hour before he was finished and was permitted to leave.

When the door to the small interview room slammed shut behind him, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Freedom until next year_, he thought, putting his hands behind his head and flexing shoulder muscles that were still achy.

"There you are, boy."

Moody's voice startled him. His arms fell to his side, and he immediately started to drop into a crouch.

"Good, good! Glad to see you haven't forgotten everything I taught you." The Auror was actually sniggering at him, and the younger man smiled self-consciously. "Ready for something to eat, Lupin?"

Remus hesitated. "Yes, but…"

"Come on, then." Moody tossed the leather coat at him and started down the hallway without waiting to see if Remus was going to follow him.

"Where are we going?" the werewolf asked when he caught up to Moody at the lifts.

"Home, of course." A lift door opened and the Auror stumped in. Remus remained frozen in place for just a moment longer. "Are you coming, boy, or not?"

"Uh, yes…"

The older man cocked his head to one side. "You got a better place to be? I make a pretty good steak, if I say so myself."

"Steak is one of my favourites," Remus said, grinning finally.

Moody nodded. "Alright, then."

They rode to the main lobby exchanging comments about the weather and the ugly paint on the walls. As they reached the Eighth Floor though, Moody suddenly put his hand on Remus' arm. "When we get to the security desk, let me do the talking."

_Should I ask?_ _No. I'm not going to ask…_

The Security guard looked up from a magazine: something pornographic, Remus supposed, because the man hid it quickly beneath a newspaper.

Moody marched up to the desk and pounded his fist on it. "Jamison, get the young man his wand, and make it quick. We've got places to go and things to do."

Jamison eyed the younger man up with a critical eye, but Remus bore the scrutiny patiently. After all, he had his clothes on now… "This the werewolf?"

"He's _a_ werewolf," Moody replied. "That's what the red 'W' on the visitor's tag means. Is he _the_ werewolf? How the hell should I know? There was a bunch of 'em in here today. What particular werewolf are you talking about?"

"Higgins was down here earlier…"

"Higgins has the brains of a pixie and the balls of a bowtruckle," snorted the older wizard. "Now, give him his wand before I give you an extra nipple."

Remus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Jamison's shocked expression made Moody's comment even more hilarious. Sirius would have appreciated… _Don't think of Sirius!_

"Hey, I don't have a problem with it; I just don't want Higgins taking this all up with my supervisor and…"

"You let me deal with both of them," Moody snapped.

Jamison hesitated, but Remus knew at that moment that Moody was going to win this argument.

Moody leaned on the desk with both hands. "You want to get the werewolf angry at you? Hand him his wand so we can get going. I'm not telling you again."

The wand suddenly appeared on the desk, as if by magic. Jamison sat back in his chair and picked up his magazine. "If I get reprimanded, Moody, I'm gonna…"

"Yeah, yeah," Moody said, waving his hand dismissively and already stepping away from the desk. "Let's go, Lupin."

Remus bared his teeth in a smile at Jamison, who drew back just the tiniest bit. Tucking his wand securely in his pocket, but keeping his fingers wrapped around it all the same, the werewolf followed the Auror.

**8:13 p.m.**

Moody was right: he did prepare a good steak. He was a surprisingly good cook all around, Remus realized. The younger wizard helped clean up the dishes while Moody watched — and critiqued — his technique.

"You know, Lupin, I've always thought you had a good hand with charms. With your reflexes and your experience in the Order, you would have made one hell of an Auror."

"Except for the fact that I'm a werewolf and it's illegal."

Moody muttered something about the Ministry and "bloody fools" and "wouldn't know" something-or-other then shook his head. "Someday those laws are going to change…"

"I doubt I'll be alive to see it," Remus commented.

The other wizard grunted. "Bit of a pessimist, aren't you?"

He considered Moody's question carefully before he answered. "More of a realist, I think." He finished stacking the last plate in the cupboard and turned to face the Auror. "I don't have much choice in the matter but to face the reality of my situation, you know. It's either that or, well, give up."

Moody sat there regarding him for the longest moment. Remus didn't move. Suddenly the older man got up and headed for the sitting room. "Bring two glasses," he called over his shoulder.

Remus did as he was told and went into the other room, where he found Moody opening a bottle of firewhiskey.

"Dumbledore and I had a long talk about you not long after Voldemort disappeared," the older man said, pouring a generous amount into each glass. He motioned for Remus to sit on the couch, while he sat down in a large, leather wing-backed chair that, had Remus been able to sell it, would have gotten him his own flat for a month or two. "We were both impressed with what you were able to accomplish during the war, you know."

"It wasn't enough," Remus said flatly, reaching out to accept the glass that Moody was handing to him. He didn't know why the Auror was bringing this up now; he would've been just fine leaving it buried.

"Keeping the other werewolves out of it —"

"But the mission was to get them on _our_ side," Remus told him.

Moody's gaze was piercing. "Sometimes you can reach your objective in ways you never thought you could. Dumbledore's words to you might have been to bring the werewolves into fighting Voldemort, but the whole point of it, really, was to keep them from fighting _us_. As far as I'm concerned, you accomplished your goal. There is more than one way to skin a Kneazle, you know."

"Not that I'd want to try." Remus smiled and raised the glass to his lips.

"True enough. But you see my point? You did well. And to go into those meetings and pubs without anyone to back you up was a damned brave thing to do, especially for a twenty-, twenty-one-year-old kid like you were."

"Some would call it stupid. I thought it a good bit about myself."

Moody smiled, but it faded quickly. "I didn't realize he told you to keep things to yourself. I thought you'd at least take Black with you." He and Remus both fell silent as they nursed their drinks and their thoughts. "I need to apologize to you, Lupin."

Remus' eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"There at the end — before the Potters died — when we were looking for a spy in the Order, I rather thought it was you."

Moody's words suddenly took Remus back to a time he wanted very much to forget — the whispers at the Order meetings, or worse, the silences; the fierce looks from Sirius; the doubt in James' eyes… Even McGonagall had looked askance at him. Only Dumbledore's sympathetic but commanding eyes kept Remus in the room and kept him coming back to the meetings. The younger man had begged to be let off of the meetings, but was told he needed to be aware of what was happening.

"_I can't stand the way they look at me," Remus had whispered to Dumbledore after two particularly brutal confrontations in one night: the first in a pub with another werewolf and the other with Sirius at the Order meeting. He wasn't typically a whiner, but he ached physically from the fight in the pub and for the first time, at the meeting, he had seen uncertainty in Lily's eyes._

_The Headmaster's grip was meant to be reassuring, but Remus felt the steel beneath it. "But didn't you hear how Moody said that Voldemort's confused about why the werewolves haven't rushed to join him? That's your influence, Remus, though you may not see it that way. You have as much right to be there as anyone — maybe even more."_

But Remus could only see how his work was pulling him further and further from those he loved, and was powerless to stop it. After all, who else could do what he was doing? How else was he supposed to protect those he still loved from Voldemort and his awful plans, or Fenrir and his horrible agenda? It was a task uniquely suited to Remus, and he knew it.

He shook off the memories and took a bracing drink of firewhiskey. "Everyone thought it was me," Remus finally replied. "You don't have to apologize."

"Dumbledore was wrong for not letting you tell anyone what you were doing," Moody surprised him by saying. "I told him so, too."

Remus emptied the glass and set it down with a slight thud. "All of that's neither here nor there; especially here. And now."

"I can't help but think maybe things might have gone a bit — differently, if only I'd known," Moody said. "If we'd all known."

"Alastor, I'm glad you saved my arse at the Ministry, and I'm more than grateful for the meal, but I do _not_ want to talk about this now. Water under the bridge, spilt milk, and all that." He picked up the glass and held it out towards the other wizard.

Mercifully, Moody just filled it up without an apology or an explanation about why he was dredging up these memories. Instead, he asked Remus about Greece and the Alatzas, and leered along with the younger man at the thought of Alesia. That led to a few stories about some of the most interesting women Moody had known. Then they talked about places they'd visited, and places they hoped to visit some day. The older wizard was a good conversationalist, Remus realized. When he wasn't talking about secrets kept during the bloody war…

"I should be going back to the house," Remus said after another half-filled glass of firewhiskey. "I'm exhausted." It was going to require some walking, too, because Moody had disconnected his Floo years ago, and Remus wasn't sure he could Apparate there without splinching himself at this point.

Moody lifted the nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey and squinted at its contents. "There's only a bit more. Why don't you help me finish it off?"

"Then I won't be able to find my way off your street, much less the way to the Alatzas'."

Moody flipped a hand contemptuously in the air. "I've got a spare bedroom upstairs. You're welcome to it."

Remus was stunned by the offer. He had never known Alastor to open his house to anyone. "Are you… sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. Why would I offer if I didn't mean it?"

The younger wizard laughed then nudged his glass in the Auror's direction. "You're not keeping me here to keep me out of trouble, are you?"

There was just the least bit of hesitation before Moody answered, "No," and Remus almost didn't catch it. Werewolf senses, however, made him aware of the other man's sudden tension.

He pulled his hand back slowly. "Gods, you _are_ keeping me here to keep me out of trouble."

The other wizard shrugged. "Better to be safe than sorry."

"You think the Ministry's going to ambush me?" Remus asked, with a short burst of nervous laughter. "Or do you think I'm going to ambush them?"

"Not the Ministry," Moody said quietly.

It only took a second for it to sink in: "Carmichael."

The Auror said nothing. Instead, he placed his glass next to Remus'. Then he poured the remainder of the firewhiskey so that the two glasses held the same amount. He motioned for the younger man to pick up his glass. Remus leaned forward, but only to put his face in his hands.

"You alright?"

"Tired." He was tired. Tired to the depths of his soul. "What time is the Portkey scheduled for?"

"Mid-morning, around ten."

The younger man nodded and drained his glass in one swallow. "If it's all the same with you, I think I'd like to go to bed."

Moody led him upstairs to the guest bedroom, pointing out the bathroom and where he could find a towel or an extra blanket. Within a matter of minutes, Remus was stretched out beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling — completely wide-awake.

**Thursday, 30 May—8:26 a.m.**

The firm tapping on the door jerked Remus to consciousness. For a moment, he lay still, befuddled.

"Lupin, best get your tail moving. It's almost eight-thirty."

The voice from outside the door brought everything back to him, though he wasn't certain he was happy about it. "I'm up," he said loudly, sitting up and pushing back the blankets.

"Breakfast is ready," Moody informed him through the door before stomping back down the stairs.

Remus got dressed quickly and took advantage of his knowledge of where the towels were to give his face and neck a good wash. Nothing he could do about the two days growth of stubble that was already threatening to call itself a beard. He eyed Moody's deep porcelain tub with envy. A good soak would not be remiss either. Alesia would never touch him unless he rectified that later. He allowed himself a smile at the thought that he'd see her soon.

Over the breakfast of eggs and bacon, he asked, "Who is taking the Portkey to Athens? I'm going to guess that you weren't able to arrange a Portkey just for me."

Moody laughed. "I wondered how long it would be before you asked. I should kick you for not asking sooner."

Remus shrugged. "I figured it wouldn't be Carmichael, and that was enough for me."

"Could be Macnair."

"Is it?" The werewolf raised an eyebrow.

The Auror shook his head. "Of course not. But even if it had been him, I'd have tried to get you hooked in on it."

"So who is it?"

"Dumbledore."

Remus stared at him for a moment before the corners of his lips began to twitch. "He has important business in Athens the same day that I have to go back, does he?"

"He's a busy man, Dumbledore. No telling how or why he gets himself into these things." Moody turned away to begin washing some dishes.

The younger wizard finished his breakfast in silence. He wanted to ask Moody why he was going to all this trouble for a poor werewolf who wasn't even a relative. He wasn't certain he wanted to hear the answer. He didn't want to know if the Auror — or the Headmaster either — was doing this out of pity. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know that the motive was friendship; his friends had a tendency to end up dead or imprisoned. He shook his head to clear it. There'd be time for thinking things through later. 

He picked up his dishes and started to carry them to the sink. Suddenly Moody turned, wand in hand, and cried, "_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Before Moody had finished speaking, Remus had thrown himself on the floor, dropping plate, glass, and tableware. As he fell, he was reaching for his wand, which was tucked in the pocket of his jeans.

Moody snapped a Conjunctivitis charm at him, and he shouted, "_Protego_!" as the spell left the Auror's wand. The spell fragmented into hundreds of little pieces that scattered everywhere like tiny invisible pebbles. The older wizard took the worst of the pelting, but was already calling out his next spell. Remus rolled to the side away from the ropes bursting from Moody's wand and sprang to his feet, yelling out a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Moody waved his wand in a quick, precise motion, dissipating the jinx before it had time to hit him. His Stunner shot out on the down-stroke of the motion. It grazed Remus' upper arm, numbing it and he grunted at the impact. Immediately, Moody dropped his wand onto the countertop and raised his hands, palm out.

"What in the hell did you do that for?" demanded Remus, once he was certain that Moody was done with this bit of unplanned duelling.

"I wanted to remind you to stay aware," the Auror said simply.

"And you couldn't have just bloody said, 'Lupin, watch your back' instead of giving me a bloody heart attack?" He looked down at the red stripe that was forming on his bicep from Moody's last spell.

"Would it have had the same effect?" asked Moody. "No, it wouldn't have and you," he pointed at Remus, "know it."

"My arm's going to be numb for an hour!"

"Better than losing that arm to a _Sectumsempra_." Moody suddenly opened a drawer and pulled out a small bottle. "Here." He held it out to Remus. "It'll help fade the mark and shorten the time your arm is numb."

"Don't expect me to thank you for it," the younger man muttered as he awkwardly manoeuvred the bottle with nerveless fingers, pouring out some of the potion into his other hand. He started to slather it on the red mark.

Moody suddenly grabbed his wand and pointed it at Remus' chest. "What would you do now, boy?"

He watched Remus' eyes widen in disbelief, then saw the quick glance down at one hand — already numb — holding the small bottle, then to the other hand, which had blue liquid slathered all over the palm. He looked back up at Moody with a 'Are you serious?' expression — and then moved.

Moody had set the younger wizard up, yes, and was prepared for almost anything, but Remus surprised him. He threw the bottle straight at Moody's face, then as the Auror recoiled, instinctively raising his hand to ward off the projectile, the werewolf dove for Moody's legs. The older man felt the younger man's thin but muscular arm wrap around his ankles and pull. Down he went, heavily, but he tried to twist so he'd land on Remus. He felt his elbow collide with something, causing a crunching sound and a muffled curse.

Moody tried to turn, but the werewolf grabbed him around the waist and wrestled him to the ground. The Auror knew he had the advantage of weight and experience with dirty tricks, but Remus had youth and werewolf strength on his side. The next thing Moody knew, he was flat on his back on his kitchen floor, arms pinned to his sides, and his wand somewhere beneath him, the younger man straddling him. Blood was running from Remus' nose, soaking his T-shirt, and his eyes were still watering from the smashing of cartilage.

"I'm impressed," panted the Auror.

"Bloody well should be," Remus replied with a pleased smile. He had actually impressed Moody, who rarely complimented anyone! He coughed as blood tickled his throat and felt Moody tense as if ready to move again. He pushed the other wizard's shoulders down with a little more force than he intended and saw something flicker behind Moody's real eye. He turned his head so he couldn't see the fear; he always saw it sooner or later. "I'm sorry," he whispered, scrambling to his feet.

"Are you mad, boy?" asked Moody harshly. "What are you sorry for? You can't afford to be sorry! Now give me a hand up."

Remus hesitated.

"What is wrong with you, Lupin? I broke your nose, not your head. Besides, I'm lying on broken glass here."

The werewolf swiped his potion-slicked hand against his jeans and helped the Auror to his feet.

"I thought you'd just _tell_ me what you'd do, or at the worst try to get my wand away from me," Moody told him. "I didn't think you were going to attack me that time. Now hold still so I can fix that nose." He snatched his wand from where it had fallen.

"Think I'm going to let you point that thing at me?"

"Yes. _Episkey_." Moody added a charm to siphon the blood off of Remus' face, but regarded the T-shirt with doubt. "I think your shirt has seen better days."

Remus looked down, gingerly touching his nose to make sure it was back to normal. "I've gotten pretty good at _Scourgify_-ing things…" He tried it two or three times, but the best he could do was to dull the blood to a very drab tan. "Oh well. I'll Apparate over to the Alatzas' and change out of this. I'll meet you at the Ministry in about ten minutes."

Moody glanced up at a clock on the wall. "Better make it five. We've only got thirty-five minutes as it is, and God only knows how much grief they'll give us if they see you. So, in five minutes, meet me by the fountain in the Atrium. And don't be late."

"No sir." Remus grinned and Disapparated.

**9:31 a.m.**

Six minutes later, Remus emerged from the lift at the Visitor's Entrance to the Ministry. Almost immediately, he saw Dumbledore and Moody in front of the fountain. The two men were talking quite seriously about something; Dumbledore was stroking his beard in slow, steady strokes.

"— it's a good idea," the Headmaster was saying. "But I wouldn't tell him — Ah, Remus! It's good to see you again!" He shook Remus' hand heartily. "I hear you're going to be travelling with me to Athens."

"I suppose I should thank the two of you for arranging this," Remus said in a low voice.

"Arranging what?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have a pressing engagement that's been planned for, oh…hours."

"I'm going to let Basil know we're here," Moody said, preventing Remus from saying anything else about the whole Portkey — thing. "He's the one in charge of this." He set off, leaving the other two alone at the fountain.

Remus asked about Hagrid and Hogwarts, smiling at Dumbledore's answers. He wasn't prepared for the Headmaster's sudden change in topic a few minutes later.

"Alastor said the two of you were duelling this morning."

Remus gave him a cautious nod. "If that's what you want to call it."

"He said you're still as quick as he remembered from four years ago."

"Not quick enough to dodge his Stunner."

"Not many people are," Albus observed.

Moody returned to them at that moment. "We're set. Basil's expecting us up on the roof. Lupin, I've already put the fear of Merlin and all the gods and of _me_ into the desk jockey sitting there, so don't worry."

Indeed, the security wizard hardly looked up as he read off the details of Remus' wand. But trouble came when he started to put Remus' wand in the special box they had for the wands of visitors who weren't allowed to carry them in the Ministry building.

"The boy has to have his wand," Moody growled. "He's taking a Portkey to Athens!"

"My instructions are that no werewolf is to carry a wand inside this building. So, he's not getting it!"

This went back and forth for a minute until Dumbledore cleared his throat. "What if Mr. Moody carried the wand for him until it was time for the Portkey to engage?"

"I don't know," the man said doubtfully. "I mean, he's obviously sympathetic to the werew— um…. He might just hand it over as soon as you get in the lift."

Moody's magical eye rolled in disgust. "Fine, I promise not to give it to him until he's got his finger on the Portkey, alright?"

The other wizard hesitated.

"Damn it, man!" Moody shouted. "They have to catch the Portkey in less than ten minutes! Do you _really_ want to be the cause of Albus Dumbledore missing his Portkey?"

That decided the man, and he handed Remus' wand to the Auror without another word.

Moody mumbled curses and imprecations until they entered a lift to take them to the roof. A witch started to enter the lift with them, but Moody held his arm out, stopping her. "Sorry," he said, with a jerk of his head to Remus. "Have to take a werewolf up."

Her eyes focused on the young man between the Auror and Headmaster. With a squeak, she backed up as quickly as she could. Remus heard Moody chuckle under his breath as the lift door slid closed.

"That was fun."

Both werewolf and Headmaster turned their heads to stare at the Auror. Moody shrugged. "Well, it was."

"Alastor, you have something you wanted to tell Remus?" Dumbledore said gently.

Moody suddenly looked nervous, and Remus would never have thought that possible. _This can't be good._ He half-turned to look at the older man, who cleared his throat and said gruffly, "I told you last night that you'd make one hell of an Auror, and I meant it. There aren't too many people who would have missed getting hit by that _Petrificus _I threw at you this morning. But I did also mean what I said to you this morning: you have to stay aware of what's going on around you. I don't know why Carmichael picked you out yesterday. Maybe they honestly were going to come down on you for that damned Article three, I don't know. But, the fact is, you're going to be vulnerable when you come home for the next full moon. If I were you, I'd try to find somewhere in Greece for it. If not, make sure Alatza is there first thing in the morning. You're at your weakest then, and _they_ know that."

Remus swallowed hard, feeling his breakfast stirring uneasily in his stomach. Moody waited to see if he was going to say anything. When he didn't, the older wizard continued. "When you get back from Greece, I wonder if you'd like to stop over at my place at least once or twice a week. I think —" he stopped and glanced at Dumbledore, "— _we_ think it'd be a good idea if you tried to learn some more defensive spells —"

Remus was confused. "But I —"

"— and learn to do them without your wand," Moody finished, speaking loudly over the other man's attempted interruption.

Remus blinked. "You hate teaching how to do wandless magic. I remember you saying that one time."

"Well, typically that's true. Some of the trainees are so thick I can barely get them to remember not to put their wands in their back pockets. But you're quick and you're bright. It might not be too bad."

"It wouldn't be a bad thing for either one of you," Dumbledore commented. "So what do you think, Remus? Can you spare a night or two each week?"

The lift door slid open. Remus hadn't even been aware of the voice counting off the floors or that the thing had stopped. As he looked from one man to the other, they could see he was a bit stunned by their proposition, but his eyes were shining with excitement as he said, "I think it's bloody brilliant!"

14


	6. Chapter 5: Trapped

Remus 3

A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 and to Zarathustra, as always…

Thanks also to remuslives23 for her constant support and wonderful stories (they're not just smut anymore!) and for those who made my day by reviewing: MahsaFF, TheMaraudersWillLiveForever, Sonoralie, MissusMoony, and Wolviesfan!

**Chapter 5: Trapped**

**Thursday, 30 May, 1985—3:45 p.m.**

Dumbledore and Remus actually used a series of Portkeys to get to Athens, and arrived there in much better time than Remus had taken to get to London. It was a much more relaxed journey as well. Dumbledore was full of interesting but little known facts about the places they travelled through. Remus had never had such a remarkable tour guide.

It was a direct contrast to what happened when he got back to the Alatzas.

Immediately upon his return, Pindar Alatza asked for a full recounting of what had happened, which Remus gave, somewhat unwillingly. Looking back on things, he knew he had been baited, and that he had lost his temper, which was never good for anyone. The merchant listened to the story and to Remus' apology for the delay in returning.

Still, Alatza didn't seem overly bothered. "You said you'd return on Thursday morning. It is now Thursday afternoon. Frankly, I feared worse when I received the message from Alastor Moody yesterday." He smiled. "I thought they'd have charged and executed you by last night."

"I wondered the same thing," Remus admitted.

The merchant looked at him thoughtfully. "You have very influential friends, Lupin."

Remus shrugged, grimacing slightly. "I suppose I do."

Alatza reached into an inner robe pocket and pulled out a piece of thick, good-quality parchment. "Do you know what this is?"

"Can't say I do, sir."

"It's a request from Albus Dumbledore that you be given two nights off every week to work with Alastor Moody. He says the two of them are going to contrive to make sure you can defend yourself from overenthusiastic Ministry workers and some werewolf hunter named —" He paused to open the letter to look for the name.

"Carmichael," Remus supplied.

"Yes, yes. That's it." Alatza tossed the letter on a nearby table. "You say you've never met him before?"

"No sir, I never have."

"Then why do you think he's so interested in you?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, come now. Surely you have _some_ idea…"

"No, I can honestly say I have no idea why he'd even look twice at me."

Alatza stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "I wonder if your influential friends have scared him off — or made you more appealing to him?"

Remus suppressed a shudder. That thought hadn't occurred to him, and he didn't much like it. Instantly, his mind started working out the possibilities of either scenario.

"So, do you want those two nights off to work with Alastor Moody?"

The question startled him out of his brief reverie. "Yes sir, I do. I think it might be —important."

"Alright then," the merchant said. "Tuesdays and Fridays, you'll have dinner with us, and then you can leave. I do expect you back for breakfast on Wednesday and Saturday mornings."

"Yes sir."

The older man sat back in the chair and sighed. "Now that's settled, I need to bring up something else."

By the man's tone, Remus knew something dreadful was coming.

"My brother has become aware of what you are. And I don't mean just the tutor of my children. A letter came here yesterday for you from the Greek Ministry of Magic. They had some information for you about where to go for the full moon, if necessary. My brother read it." He held up a hand to forestall the questions that were on Remus' lips. "He is calm — _now _— and has no problem with you remaining in the house. He did insist on telling his wife and his eldest children about it, as well as our other brother and his wife. He did not tell the younger children." Alatza looked at Remus as if now expecting a reaction.

_What am I supposed to say?_ "I am grateful that he didn't tell the children," Remus finally managed.

"Alesia's reaction was — interesting — to say the least," the older man continued.

_I can only imagine…_

"She was somewhat upset that you hadn't told her. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising she reacted so strongly considering you two have spent so much time together, but my brother was insistent on hearing why she seemed so — overwrought."

"Oh?"

"I fear my brother was not as upset about your lycanthropy as he was at the fact that you and his daughter had been — intimate."

"Oh, shit." The words slipped out before Remus could stop them.

Alatza actually laughed. "Lupin — Remus — I have to admit, if she weren't my niece, and I was a few years younger, I'd hardly be able to keep my hands off of her. My brother has since become aware of other — relationships — she has had in the past few years. To say it baldly, yesterday was a bloody battle zone between Alesia and Thanos."

Remus waited. He was sometimes very good at waiting, especially when he wasn't certain where the conversation was going.

"Thanos has not forbidden you the house. He did, however, insist that you not be left alone with Alesia."

"I suppose that's understandable," Remus admitted, "as well as generous."

"His wife was all for tossing you out on your ear," Alatza said. "But that was before Alesia admitted to sleeping with the gardener." He smiled. "Apparently, being a British tutor ranks higher than an Albanian gardener."

"How fortunate for me," mumbled the British tutor.

Alatza laughed again, but sobered quickly. "You are a guest of mine, and more importantly, a guest in my brother's home. I won't say that you are at fault with what happened with Alesia — I won't even ask. But keep in mind that anything improper from this point on will not be tolerated."

"Yes sir."

"If you have to have a woman, Lupin, please, for God's sake, find some woman in town. There are plenty, I would think, that wouldn't mind 'entertaining' a young English man such as yourself."

"Yes sir."

Alatza stood. "You have a couple of hours before dinner in which you can give my children their lessons."

Remus nodded and, hearing the dismissal in the man's words, left to go find Dominic and Isabelle — and to avoid Alesia.

**Saturday, 1 June, 1985—9:41 a.m.**

It wasn't possible to avoid Alesia — or her temper. He was told by Thanos Alatza that he should be thankful she only threw a vase and several glasses at him. Apparently she had thrown much heavier and deadlier things at a boyfriend who had been caught with another woman.

Still, things didn't seem to be too terribly uncomfortable. There was some tension in the air when Remus was in the room with the adult Alatzas, but he wasn't sure if that was because he was a werewolf or he had slept with Alesia. The children were told nothing about the situation and treated Remus no differently. If they wondered why Alesia didn't go with them in their daily tromps through the village, they didn't ask Remus, which suited him just fine.

As the weekend before the full moon approached, Remus started feeling more uneasy about going back to England for his transformation. He had read the letter from the Greek Ministry about the precautions they took with their few werewolves, and wasn't overly impressed. He hadn't heard anything from Moody — not that he expected to — but he would have liked to know if Carmichael had found the guilty werewolf, or if he'd moved on.

On Saturday morning, however, Pindar Alatza called him into the library and asked him to decide what he was going to do.

"We're going to have to arrange Portkeys or Floo all the way back to Britain," the merchant reminded him. "And I'm not all that anxious for you to go 'were' on me in the middle of France."

Remus smiled weakly, and made an attempt at a joke. "I'm not anxious for that to happen either, sir. I'd venture to say that would be cause for dismissal."

Alatza laughed. "True." He regarded the younger man for a moment. "Have you heard from Alastor Moody?"

"No," sighed Remus. "I don't know whether to be relieved or worried." He put his hands in his pockets and shifted his feet restlessly. The merchant was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. He had to decide. Now. He took a deep breath. "We'll go back. I'm sorry about the bother, but I'm just not comfortable trusting the Greek regulations."

"Too harsh? Or not harsh enough?"

"They're just — different," Remus replied after a moment of picking and choosing words.

"Alright, then," Alatza said. "We'll leave first chance we can on Monday. I have some things I can do at the office if we get back soon enough."

"Thank you, sir."

They discussed the children and their academic progress for a few minutes before Remus left the room, still wondering if he had made the right choice or not.

**Monday, 3 June, 1985—1:25 p.m.**

Pindar Alatza was familiar enough with the young man he had hired as his children's tutor to know when something was wrong. He had seen him jumpy and somewhat irritable around the full moon, but never had it been this bad. Remus couldn't seem to stand still, no matter where they happened to be, and he was constantly fidgeting with his wand, with paper, with the tableware when they stopped for lunch…. It was putting Alatza on edge as well.

"Would you calm yourself?" he hissed at Remus while they were waiting for their turn at a Floo at a large marketplace that would take them from Dover to London. They could have Apparated to the house on St. James Street, but the merchant was afraid that Remus would splinch himself. He was rather surprised when Remus had agreed.

"Sorry!" the other man snapped, tossing down the small stone that he'd been juggling from hand to hand.

Alatza sighed with relief. But almost immediately, Remus started tapping his foot. The merchant shot him a look of disgust.

"I can't —" the werewolf began. Then he stopped and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Why are you so upset?" Alatza asked quietly.

Remus shook his head. "I don't know. It's just a feeling that something isn't right."

"Werewolf's intuition?" teased the older man gently, glancing around to make sure no one heard him.

The werewolf in question shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so. It's just — I don't know. I'm just —" He gave up trying to explain.

The witch in front of them disappeared into the green flames and they stepped forward.

"Maybe we should go straight to the estate," Alatza suddenly turned and suggested. "We can look things over and make sure everything's as it should be. It might calm you down some."

"It might," Remus agreed doubtfully, taking one hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck.

"I'll meet you at the estate, then," Alatza waited for the tutor's nod, then stepped into the Floo, calling, "Stonehurst, Reading."

As Remus waited for the flames to turn green again, he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was rather convinced he was going to lose his lunch, what with his nervous, queasy stomach and the whirling of the Floo. The flames changed colour and with a confidence he didn't feel, he repeated the address of the estate in Reading and walked into the fire.

He nearly pitched into Pindar Alatza at the other end, and lost his balance, falling without grace of any kind to the floor. Alatza laughed and helped him to his feet.

"And here I thought you were the type to always land on your feet, Lupin."

Remus risked a nervous joke: "Wolf, not cat, remember?"

Alatza slapped him on the back, nearly putting him on the floor again. "Let's have a glass of wine."

**7:24 p.m.**

Hours later, they walked out to the shed, taking their time to look over the fields and the stone and hedge fences. Everything was serene and undisturbed, and Remus felt his nerves calming. Even the shed seemed welcoming and sturdy, though the younger man deliberately avoided looking at the stains on the floor. Alatza threw his considerable weight against the doors and smiled when they didn't budge. "I think that will still hold the wolf, don't you?"

Remus nodded, saying nothing.

"Are you still worried?"

"Not as much," the younger man admitted.

"Well, I'll stay here at the manor tonight, and I'll be here to get you first thing. Then we'll head back to Greece, if you're up for it." He put his hand on Remus' shoulder and looked him in the eye. "When Dumbledore recommended you, I had my reservations, but he knows I can't resist a challenge." He smiled. "You're a good tutor and a good man, Lupin. I'm not ready to lose you yet."

Alatza must have been worried, Remus figured, to say something like that. Still, it did make him feel better, and he allowed himself to smile, the first real smile he had given all day.

The older man walked around the interior of the shed, looking around without a shred of embarrassment or uneasiness. "What will you need tonight?"

"Just the usual," Remus said. "Bowl of water, a place for my wand, for sunrise to come soon…"

Alatza laughed.

Preparations went quickly, and all too soon, Alatza stood at the door with his hand on the outside latch. "Anything else?"

"No sir."

"Then, I'll be on my way. I'll be back first thing in the morning." He paused. "Good luck, Remus."

Remus nodded, and Alatza saw the impatient gleam that told him that the werewolf was anxious to be alone with his demon. He pulled the doors closed firmly.

Remus sank to the floor, listening to the chains being pulled through brackets on the doors. The moon pulled at every nerve, though he knew he still had at least an hour before the actual change. It whispered to him, promising him things it could never deliver, filling him with desires that he never wanted to satisfy. He couldn't help groaning softly: it was the only thing that could express the feeling of doubt, hopelessness, and yearning that welled up within him.

He got up and paced the length and breadth of the shed. He tried to concentrate on counting his steps, but his mind ripped coherent thought to shreds.

_It's going to be bad, _he realized suddenly, whimpering a little. He began to undress quickly…

**Tuesday, 4 June, 1985—6:24 a.m.**

Pain held him fixed to the floor, and the smell of his own blood assaulted him. He thought he could hear a man's voice dismissing the wards, and then, yes, that definitely was the chain sliding through the brackets. Weak sunlight burst into the shed, blinding him, making him gasp.

"That's him," said a rough voice.

"Bloody mess, ain't he?" said another.

"Let's go, let's go! Before Alatza gets here," growled another voice. That one was vaguely familiar.

Remus looked up, momentarily struck dumb with shock and fear.

There were four of them; three who approached him, one to stand by the door. Only one of them was familiar.

"No," he whispered, finally regaining his ability to speak. "Not going."

"You don't have a choice in the matter," Carmichael said with a smirk. "You've already been bought and paid for."

And with those mysterious words, the men reached for him with merciless hands and took him away.

They Apparated into an old barn that could have been anywhere. The smell of musty hay tickled the barely conscious werewolf's nose, and dust rose from where he landed on the floor. The men had apparently planned for this mission: one of them threw a blanket over him while another popped open a bottle that immediately started to fizz.

Roughly, they forced his mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat. Almost immediately, he felt warmth spreading through him, and knew the tingle of a healing potion.

"That bit isn't going to be enough to close up those gashes," one man commented.

"It'll slow the bleeding," Carmichael replied. "And it should be enough to get him up on his feet for now," Carmichael said. He waited a moment and then motioned to two of the men. "Let's go."

Again, Remus was hauled to his feet, and they Disapparated.

**10:05 a.m.**

Alastor Moody was just putting the finishing touches on a report of a robbery from Borgin & Burkes when he heard someone shouting. As far as he was concerned, if they wanted him involved, they'd call for him, so he just shrugged inwardly and continued working.

A moment later, a young Auror came charging down the aisle, skidding to a stop by his cubicle. "Moody, they're bringing someone over to see you."

"Who?"

"I think his last name's Atlanta, or Aliza, or something like that."

"Alatza?"

"That's it."

Moody felt a chill go up his spine. "What's wrong?"

"Don't know for sure. Someone's missing —"

The Auror threw down the quill and went to meet Alatza.

**12:51 p.m.**

Three hours later, Moody was walking through the halls of Hogwarts, resolutely ignoring the students who stopped to stare at him. As he climbed the staircase leading to the second floor, he saw Minerva McGonagall standing on the landing above him.

"Alastor? What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

Moody shook his head. "Come with me to Dumbledore's office, and I'll tell you both what I know. You should hear this."

She hesitated for just a moment before nodding. "I have a class starting in a quarter of an hour. If I'm late, it might teach them patience."

"If they're Gryffindors, I doubt that."

"Slytherins, actually."

"Patience they've got," Moody growled. "Too much of it, sometimes. Especially when they're waiting for someone to fail."

When they entered Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster was standing beside Fawkes, the phoenix, gently stroking the bird's head with one finger.

"Alastor, I fear you are not here for a social visit."

"No, I'm not," the Auror replied. He motioned for Dumbledore to sit down, and waited for him to do so. "Remus Lupin is missing."

The older wizard leaned forward and his hands clenched the arms of the chair. "What do you mean, he's missing?"

"For Merlin's sake, Albus, how can I make it any clearer than that? The boy went missing this morning. Alatza got to the shed, the wards were down, the doors open, and there was no sign of Lupin."

"Could he have gotten out last night?"

"Or could he have done it this morning, after he changed back?" asked McGonagall, sinking into a chair next to Moody's.

The Auror shook his head. "No. When I got there this morning, I ran a tracking spell, and it seems as if there were three or four people there — besides Lupin — though I'm not certain of that. There were at least two, because there were two separate and distinctive sets of footprints that had tracked through the blood on the floor.

"Besides that, Alatza and Lupin worked on those wards together, and they've held the wolf for months. And as far as Lupin leaving this morning, there's no way he could have left that shed this morning by himself. Alatza said the boy had been nervous all day yesterday — more so than usual, even if it was a full moon day — and was worried about last night. We all know that a werewolf's transformation is more difficult and more brutal when he's stressed. By looking at the damage done and the blood left behind, it's obvious that Lupin hurt himself badly. Or the nastier possibility was that someone else hurt him."

"What else did the tracking spell tell you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Whoever it was, they Apparated into the woods near the manor, went straight to the shed, then came out and Disapparated almost immediately."

"And there's no way of knowing where they went," McGonagall said bitterly.

"No."

"So, what do we do now?" Dumbledore asked.

Moody sighed. "Not much we can do. I can't put in a missing person's report for a week."

"A week!" exclaimed McGonagall. "I thought it was two or three days!"

"For a wizard, it's typically two days. For a werewolf, it's seven days."

"But anything could happen in seven days!"

"I don't write the laws, Minerva."

"I know, but, honestly —"

Dumbledore stopped her with a raised hand. "We can notify those who were in the Order that knew him. They can help by being our eyes and ears until the Ministry steps in."

"You can also help me by giving me a list of names of his friends or relatives," Moody said. "I can't do anything _officially_ yet, but if I happen to meet one or two of them…"

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged glances. "I think that might be a bit more difficult — or perhaps simpler — than you'd think," the Headmaster finally said. "His parents are both dead, as are his grandparents, with the exception of one grandmother who disowned him after he was bitten. His mother's family are Muggles, and have never had much to do with him, and his father's family is so small and widespread that they have more or less forgotten he exists."

"What about his friends?" Moody asked.

"As far as I know," McGonagall said slowly, "his friends are either dead or in Azkaban."

Moody's eyes focused on Dumbledore. "I knew the boy kept to himself, but you mean to tell me he's isolated himself that much?"

"Considering how his other friendships turned out, I can't blame him," McGonagall opined.

"He's been afraid to get close to anyone again," Dumbledore said, in agreement with McGonagall. "That is one reason why I was encouraging you to teach him. Besides it being a practical thing for him to learn, I knew it might encourage him to trust someone again."

"Being friends with an Auror is not necessarily a wise choice," Moody snapped. "All it takes is one distracted moment, or one undiscovered hex, and I'm dead. And you want to do that to him?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "It was the first time in a long time I've seen him interested in working with a _person_."

"You sent him to Slovakia and Romania —"

"To study magical animals and creatures. He was happy doing that. He very rarely had contact with the man he was working for."

Moody glared at the Headmaster. "You know what, Dumbledore? You've fucked that boy up."

The Headmaster's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

"You've let him isolate himself. You were trying to help him, yes, but you let him push people away. You did the same thing to him in the war. You gave him tasks that only he could do, but made it impossible for him to talk about them. You isolated him from Black, Pettigrew, and the Potters — if you had allowed him to tell them what he was doing, Black wouldn't have been able to convince the Potters that Lupin was the spy, and —"

"Enough!" said Dumbledore sharply.

McGonagall jumped at the Headmaster's tone. Moody pressed his lips together tightly in a scowl.

"We all, at one time or another, have been guilty of underestimating Remus," Dumbledore finally admitted. "I honestly thought that he would tell Sirius and the Potters what he was doing. They never kept secrets from one another. I didn't realize he would keep so much hidden from them. So, yes, I suppose I helped create the situation in which he lost the Potters' trust. I will make no apologies for myself, though, Alastor. We _all_ did what we thought was necessary at the time."

Moody grunted, though McGonagall wasn't sure if it was in agreement or not. Still, she thought it might be a good thing to change the subject. "Alastor, where are you going to look first?"

"I'm going to find out where Carmichael is. I have the feeling he's behind all this. I'll make a few enquiries, but I'll have to be very discreet. If I move too quickly, without enough evidence, I'll catch all kinds of hell. Oh, I almost forgot…" Moody suddenly rose in order to dig in a pocket of his Auror's robes. "I have these." He looked from Dumbledore to McGonagall. "I think one of you should keep them." He pulled out a small moleskin bag cinched shut with a frayed cord, and tossed it on the desk in front of the Headmaster.

Slowly, as if unsure of what he would find, Dumbledore opened it and placed his hand inside. Moody was watching him closely, so he saw the pained look appear in the older wizard's eyes.

"What is it, Albus?" asked McGonagall quietly.

Dumbledore slowly withdrew a long, slender brown wand. McGonagall gasped.

"Alatza said that and his clothes were up on the shelf they built just for that purpose," Moody said. He motioned to the bag. "His clothes are in there too." He let out a bitter chuckle. "We should have taught him how to do wandless magic months ago, Albus."

**6:46 p.m.**

Solid black became blurred images, dull aches became sharp pain, whispers became rough talk — but the nightmare wouldn't end. All he wanted was to rest, to sleep away the damage he had done to himself, but they wouldn't let him. When he could, he stumbled along wherever they pushed him, unaware of where he was, where he was going, and completely ignorant of the reason why. He tried to ask twice, but the resulting punches and kicks made him reconsider asking again.

Finally, hours later, he was dropped unceremoniously on the ground, and he curled into a ball, wincing.

"Good God, Carmichael! What the hell is this?"

"You wanted a werewolf. This —" The toe of a boot connected with his shoulder blade. "— is a werewolf. He'll heal with a couple of good spells."

"I hope so. I don't like paying for damaged — creatures."

"Lupin." The booted foot nudged him.

"Lupin!" the other voice repeated his name breathlessly. "Are you mad?"

"What? He's a werewolf like any other."

"Except that he's Albus Dumbledore's pet!"

Large hands grabbed his arm and pulled at him until he was more or less sitting up. "Dumbledore can't get him here, and you know it. Besides, I've checked; he's got no family to worry about. He's a good choice, really."

Remus opened his eyes slowly. He was surrounded by legs — all human. Two, four, six, seven — _wait, how can there be _seven_? Moody? No — there are eight legs — like an octopus… _He looked up at the man who stood in front of him. He looked familiar. He was dressed in a dark Muggle suit and necktie and bowler hat, which gave him the appearance of a well-to-do Muggle banker or businessman. His round face was red with anger, and his moustache bristled with indignation. "You'd better be right, Carmichael. I have half a mind to demand a discount — an injured creature, one that's a little too well-known…. What in the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking you paid for a werewolf —"

The shouting went on, but Remus let it pour over him, though he knew he should be paying attention to what they were saying. _So much for constant vigilance._

Something caught his attention finally. "Listen, Bentley, he's the best one on that list anyhow. John Lupin used to work at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Creatures, and then worked at exterminating and relocating magical creatures. He more than likely passed that knowledge on." There was another tap with the boot, this time against his hip. "Use this one to take care of the other animals you've got."

_My dad used to work at the Ministry? Did he? When? He never —_

"Fine, fine. I'll work it out. I can work around what I really need him for so he's not identified. For now. But, I'm telling you, Carmichael —"

"You're not telling me anything. You got your werewolf. Now I want the rest of my money."

The other man — Bentley? — sighed heavily. "All right. Fine." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Get him inside. Last cage on the right."

Remus let himself be pulled up, but they didn't allow him to find his footing. Instead, they dragged him toward a long tent, striped with vivid colours. Behind him, he heard Bentley ask if Carmichael was sure he wasn't going to die. Carmichael's voice carried easily to him: "He shouldn't. Keep throwing healing potions down his throat. But if he does, I'll get you another one. Don't worry about it."

There had been a night, six years ago, when Remus and Sirius had ended up in a Muggle jail because firstly, they were drunk (out of their minds) in a public place (in front of Westminster Cathedral), and secondly, Sirius thought it'd be fun to get arrested so they could Disapparate from their cell (just to tweak the noses of the police). Remus was now reminded of that night very clearly

Bars lined both sides of the corridor, giving it the appearance of a prison. He glanced from side to side, astounded at what he was seeing: a variety of magical creatures and beings, many of them staring at him and his captors. His sluggish mind identified a nogtail, a tank with a grindylow, and a small cage full of pixies, and he wasn't quite sure, but he thought he saw a hippogriff.

The smell of the place was nearly overwhelming to him, and the dust raised from the tanbark tickled his nose and made him sneeze. The men merely tightened their grip on his arms and kept him moving.

When they finally reached the end of the corridor, a young man, hardly older than a boy, stepped out of the cage. "In here," he said, with a sweeping gesture. "Watch the bars, they're silver."

"Hear that?" the man to his left said gleefully in his ear. "Silver bars. Not going anywhere soon, are you?"

"Me da wants these on him," said the young man, who Remus could now see had more than a passing resemblance to Bentley. He held up a set of leg irons.

"No," Remus whispered.

"Be thankful _they_ aren't silver," the man on his left remarked.

Any resistance was taken from the werewolf with a few well-placed punches, and before he knew it, he was laying naked on his side, his ankles connected by the iron chain.

"Don't he have no clothes?" the young man asked.

"Your dad didn't pay for them," sneered one of the other men. He held the blanket in his hands. "This has his blood all over it already; guess it won't hurt to let him keep it." He gave it a toss so that it landed across Remus's waist. "There. Now he won't be offending all the dainty ladies that come through here."

"What's with all the scratches?"

"Haven't you seen what a werewolf will do to itself during full moon?"

Young Bentley swallowed hard. "No."

"Get used to it then."

"You'll want to get him some more Healing potions," someone commented.

Remus didn't know who said it. He didn't care, really. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The sound of clinking iron accompanied his movements, and he felt his heart constrict painfully.

The sound of the door slamming shut behind the men made him jump, and his eyes fluttered open. If anyone had been looking, they would have seen something lurking behind the blue, something fearsome that whispered over and over in Remus's mind, _Trapped. Trapped. Trapped…._

14


	7. Chapter 6: Awake and Aware

Carnival

A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 for her suggestions and comments, and for being with me throughout this journey; and for Zarathustra, the fabulous beta, who graciously surrenders her time and talents to make my grammar, punctuation, and Brit-speak look good and read well!

**Chapter 6: Awake and Aware**

**Wednesday, 5 June, 1985—9:17 a.m.**

"Hey."

He ignored the voice. He was so tired. He ached. He hurt.

"Come on, it's way past time to get up."

The voice sounded annoyed. The voice could go screw itself.

A hand fell on his shoulder and shook him roughly. He groaned.

"I got some healing potions for you, and some food."

Food? Was he ready for food? His nose twitched, but he didn't smell the bacon or sausage that he preferred on the days just before and after the full moons. Still, the word 'food' keyed something in his stomach.

"Look, if you don't get up, me da'll be in, and you don't want that. Trust me."

No, he probably didn't want that. He opened his eyes, then immediately recoiled, startled. The dark-haired boy was kneeling only inches from his face.

"That's better." The younger man motioned to a metal tray on the floor next to him. "I got you breakfast. Me da wants you to finish it up quick, and then I'll show you what you're to do."

"What — I'm to do?" Remus asked hoarsely. He pushed himself up on one elbow, and eyed up the food on the tray. Porridge. He hated porridge.

"Yeah. I'll explain later." Young Bentley stood up. "I'm going to go find you some clothes. Be back in a bit." Remus watched him carefully lock the cage door behind himself.

_Can't trust the injured, chained werewolf to stay put, I guess._

It took him a few minutes to sit up, and he gave himself a quick once-over. Things were scabbing up nicely. There were quite a few bruises from the manhandling he'd received the day before, but he'd had worse. And whatever he had to say about those who'd brought him here, they knew their healing potions. There were two very powerful ones on the tray: he recognized them by the smell as ones he'd used before.

They moved quickly through his system, and he watched the bruising fade from black to greenish-yellow, and the soreness in his body faded. With a sigh, he pronounced himself fit enough to eat the glop the boy had left him. He _really_ hated porridge. The chains around his ankles rattled, and he spared them a disgusted glance. How he'd get trousers on over those…

Remus managed to choke down the porridge and the piece of toast before the boy returned. He nursed the small glass of juice, trying to make it last as long as he could.

"You're a lot taller than any of us," the boy said as he entered the cage. Remus noticed that he carefully tucked the key to the cage deep into his front jeans pocket, before tossing a pile of clothes onto the floor next to werewolf. "So I had Ruthie work some magic to stretch them out a bit. Sorry I couldn't find shoes for you."

_Did he want to be thanked?_ Remus wondered bitterly. He sighed. "Thank you for thinking of it."

The younger man looked surprised.

_Oooh, the werewolf has _manners_. What next?_

"You know, it's going to be a bit difficult getting jeans on over these," Remus said, pointing to the leg irons.

"I know." Bentley looked uncomfortable. "Da said to unlock one at a time, and said to tell you that he's got silver leg irons if you put up a fight."

"Of course," Remus replied, with a sardonic half-smile.

The boy not only just unlocked one ankle ring at a time — he would then close it over the nearest cage bar. Remus tried not to let the boy see him cringe at the proximity of his leg to the silver, but was unsuccessful.

"What happens if you touch silver?" Young Bentley asked, watching Remus with curious eyes.

"Burns." He glanced over and saw the confusion. "Imagine taking an iron bar, shoving it into fire for a while, then wrapping it around your ankle. That's what it does to me."

"Blimey."

"Yeah."

More by luck than anything else, he managed to get the clean but shabby underwear and jeans on his frame without bumping the silver bars once. The boy closed the irons back around his ankles, and Remus stood for a moment staring at them.

"I'm sorry," Bentley suddenly said.

Remus's eyes snapped up to meet the boy's gaze. "Then let me go."

"I can't do that!"

"Why? You know it's wrong that I'm here."

"Me da paid —"

"Nobody's paid _me,_" snarled Remus. "I have a job that I've been taken from without permission or warning! I'm not here willingly!"

"But you're just —" the boy stopped.

"Just a werewolf?" Remus demanded. "I don't have feelings? I don't have rights?"

"Mr Carmichael said —"

"Carmichael can go bugger himself." Remus bent to snag the T-shirt off the floor with his fingertips. "Just how much did your da pay for me to lose my freedom?"

The younger man told him.

Remus's jaw dropped before he could stop it. He quickly recovered his composure, though, and pulled the T-shirt over his head, wincing slightly at the stretch of still-achy muscles. "He's insane."

Bentley shrugged. "We've been having some problems. He's hoping having a werewolf will bring in more people and more money."

"And he couldn't have just _asked_ a werewolf to sign on? He had to _kidnap_ one?" Remus asked, tucking the shirt into the jeans. "Surely there was a werewolf somewhere who'd take one thousand galleons to stay here willingly."

"Would you?" the boy countered.

"If I didn't have the job I — _shit_." Remus closed his eyes. How long would it be before Alatza hired a new tutor? How long would he wait for Remus to return? Would he even report him missing? The hopelessness of his situation hit him with the strength of a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and he fell to his knees.

"You alright?" The other young man's concern would be touching, if he probably weren't worried about making sure his father's investment was intact and well.

"What is your father demanding from me?"

"What?"

Remus took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "You said your father had something he wanted me to do. What is it?"

"Oh. He wants you to help take care of the creatures. He said you should have experience doing that, and you should —" Again Bentley stopped speaking before revealing something he felt would be embarrassing.

"I should what?" Remus asked. His head was beginning to thump.

"He said you should earn your keep."

"All one thousand Galleons of it, eh?" Remus dropped his face into his hands. He had very few options. He could fight tooth and claw for freedom, but he was caged within silver bars, and he'd been warned of silver leg irons. What else did they have planned to keep a rebellious werewolf in check? He wasn't comfortable with trying to overpower young Bentley. It wasn't the boy's fault he was here — plus, he wasn't quite sure he had the physical strength to dominate at this moment. And there was the fact that he already was in leg irons — how far could he get?

So, what did that leave? Do the job, but look for any opportunity to escape.

"Fine," he finally spat, rising clumsily to his feet. "But if your dear old da is expecting me to work, I'm going to need a lot more and a lot better than _porridge_ in the morning. Werewolves need meat — especially the days before and after the full moon."

The boy looked somewhat nervous at Remus's demand; but rather than question the reason why, the werewolf motioned to the door. "Let's go."

Walking with chains between your ankles apparently required a certain knack that Remus just didn't have. He had never felt as awkward as he did now, half-stepping, half-tripping over the links, his stride cut to a fourth of its usual length. He had to concentrate to stay on his feet, so he didn't see what was in the cage next to his until the other boy stopped abruptly in front of him.

"Good God!" Remus exclaimed, taken off guard.

"We just got her a couple of weeks ago."

"It's an Erumpent!"

"Yeah."

"If that horn explodes, it will destroy half of this tent!"

"I know. But you throw in some greens and bit of grain now and again, and she's happy enough."

The Erumpent didn't look at all happy to Remus. "Her cage needs to be cleaned out."

"Yeah, I know. Me da says you can do it after you feed them."

"It's going to be a lot more difficult for me to do it without my wand. Can't _you_ just _Scourgify_ the cage?"

The boy's face fell. "No, I can't."

"Didn't you learn it at Hogwarts?" Remus asked, amazed that the boy had gotten this far in life without knowing such a basic spell.

The boy shifted uncomfortably. "I never went to Hogwarts."

"Oh?"

"I'm a bit of a Squib."

"Oh."

"Me mum was a Muggle, and I took after her. She and Da split up when I was a baby. She thought I'd be a wizard, too, so she left me with him. Ruthie's me da's —" He squirmed. "Ruthie's almost me stepmum."

"Ah." _Well, that answers that. I've got to take care of magical creatures with the help of a Squib and no wand. Hell._

James would have run his fingers through his hair and offered some kind of encouraging words. Peter would have looked thunderstruck and offered consolation. Sirius would have laughed and called it a challenge.

_Don't think of Sirius._

But, right now, standing in this corridor surrounded by iron bars, he couldn't help feeling a sudden empathy with his former best friend.

It took them about half an hour to go around the tent, and for Remus to learn what animals were present in "Bentley & Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures." Remus also discovered that both Bentleys were named Gerald, but the younger Bentley preferred to be called Gerry. He also learned about a man named Hector, who had worked there for two years, taking care of the creatures. Hector had left two months ago, deciding that he'd had enough of it. Strangely enough, his decision coincided with the loss of his left leg…

They ended their tour at the cage directly opposite Remus's. He was stunned to realize that a centaur was inside. How had he managed not to see the half-man, half-horse before?

"And this is Bertie," Gerry said.

The centaur flicked his tail, obviously annoyed, but said nothing. His coat was chestnut in colour, and all four feet were white — or would be if they weren't covered with caked-on dirt. Thick curls of reddish hair covered his chest and chin, matching the even thicker hair on his head.

Remus nodded politely, but the left corner of his mouth rose. If there was anything he knew about centaurs, it was that no self-respecting centaur would be named: "Bertie?" he echoed.

The centaur merely gave him a look that meant Remus should shut his mouth before he even thought about adding anything else.

"If you have any questions, you could ask Bertie. He helped Hector." Gerry Bentley commented.

The centaur looked even more irritated at that bit of information.

Gerry glanced down at his watch. "We've only got a couple of hours before the gates open. We'd better get moving. Da'll be angry if the creatures are still eating when the people are coming through." He turned and started back towards the front of the tent, where the storage area was.

Remus hesitated and looked back at the centaur. "_Bertie_?" He whispered, putting an inquiring tone into the name.

The centaur raised his chin proudly. "Libertas."

Remus's first reaction was to snicker. But then he remembered the looks of disbelief that sometimes followed the realization that he was a werewolf: "Your name is _Remus_? _Lupin_? Are you _serious_?" He gave the centaur a sympathetic grin. "I'm Remus Lupin."

The centaur just stared at him then folded his arms across his chest defiantly.

Remus shrugged and started to turn to follow Gerry. He had forgotten about the chains, though; his toe caught in the links, and he fell painfully to the tanbark. A sharp sliver of wood drove itself into the palm of his hand, and he muttered a curse.

"You are a wolf," the centaur said suddenly.

Remus looked up at him. "As much as you are a horse."

The muscles beneath the chestnut hide shuddered, but the forbidding, defiant facial expression didn't change.

"Come on!" Gerry suddenly called.

"The master calls," Remus said bitterly, pushing himself up to his knees.

"That is the master's son. The master is less — considerate." The centaur backed away from the bars and into the shadowy corner, obviously finished with the conversation.

It was Remus' turn to shudder. Considering what he had already experienced and the fact that centaurs were masters of mystery and understatement, the implications behind such a comment were frightening.

The next two hours were an eye-opening flurry of activity. Remus soon realized why it didn't seem to be a problem to keep the animals contained. A sedative potion was poured onto each dangerous creature's food, and before Remus was escorted back to his own cage, several of the animals were already sleeping or leaning woozily against the bars of their respective cages. He watched Gerry add a small bit of the potion to Libertas' water.

"You're not drugging the centaur?" he asked incredulously.

Gerry looked at him with wide eyes. "Haven't you seen a centaur when he's angry?"

"Once or twice," Remus admitted. "But it's just — wrong."

"It's safer. Besides, me da wants this done. You're well warned to remember that." Gerry replied with a firmness to his words that Remus knew he couldn't argue with. "Anyhow, there's no time to clean out the cages now. They'll have to be done tomorrow morning. You're going to have to get up earlier in the morning so you can do the feeding and the cleaning before the gates go up at one."

"So, from now until tomorrow morning, I do…what, exactly?"

Gerry looked surprised that he had asked. Or maybe, judging by his next words, he had never considered it: "I don't know. What do you usually do?"

"I usually do the job that I was _hired_ to do," Remus said, fighting not to slap the boy on the side of the head. "You're telling me that I'm going to just sit in a cage all day doing nothing?"

"Well," the boy shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I might be able to find a book or something for you to read." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to get you back to your —er, cage."

Remus shifted the bowl of greens for Libertas so he could pick up the large pitcher of drugged water, but Gerry grabbed it instead.

"I will be back around six to help you with the second feedings," he told Remus as they trudged back down the length of the tent.

"Second feedings?"

"Yeah. Some of the creatures get a second feeding — and a second dose of potion — then."

"Something to look forward to," Remus muttered.

They went back to the centaur's cage, and Gerry unlocked the door. "Here you go, Bertie. Got you your lunch and some water."

Libertas looked at Remus, but the werewolf looked away. Did the centaur know what was in the water? Surely he did. Would he drink it? Remus suddenly wondered if his juice had been drugged. He hadn't noticed any kind of aftertaste, and he didn't feel sluggish or tired. Besides, they needed him to feed the creatures. Sluggish and tired wouldn't get the job done — not in time for the opening of the gates.

_Well, that's a happy thought. _

He handed the bowl of greens to Libertas without meeting his eyes and quickly left the cage, narrowly avoiding tripping over the chains — again.

Gerry locked the centaur's cage, and started digging in his pockets for the key to Remus's cell. "I'll try to find a book for you," he said.

"Fine." Remus suddenly felt an urge that needed to be dealt with — now. "Uh, one question, though. Where do I, uh, go?"

Gerry glanced up with a confused look. "Right there," he said, jerking his chin towards the silver bars.

"I know that. I mean to — oh, hell. Where do I take a piss, Gerry?"

The boy's eyes widened. "Oh. Uh…"

Remus chuckled bitterly. "Didn't you people plan for this? What did you think I'd do? Lift my leg against the wall?"

"Bill might fix something up for you," Gerry said, finally jamming the key into the lock, and swinging the door open.

"Who is Bill?"

"Me da's partner."

_He might? God help me if he doesn't. I really will have to lift my leg. Could be interesting considering the leg irons…._

Remus walked to the middle of the cage and looked around. "A chair might be nice — or a bed of some sort."

"You'll have to talk to Bill."

"Right."

Gerry locked the door and tugged at the door to make sure it was closed tightly. "I'll see you in a bit."

Remus nodded.

The boy stayed there for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. "It's really not so bad here," he finally said. "It's actually very interesting sometimes."

"Of course it is," Remus replied sarcastically.

He waited until the boy had gone, then sat down on the ground. Thankfully, the ground hadn't been strewn with tanbark. Instead, a thin rug covered the concrete-hard dirt. _That'll be chewed to bits in a matter of seconds at the full moon, _Remus thought.

He lay back on the floor with his arms crossed behind his head. There wasn't anything else he could do. He couldn't even lean against the bars.

"Wolf."

He glanced through the bars at the centaur. "_Bertie._"

The centaur stomped a back hoof. "Taurus is strong in this quadrant. Beware Scorpio though. His sting can be deadly for you."

"Do centaurs ever speak plainly?" Remus asked the canvas ceiling above him.

"We speak the truth," Libertas said.

Remus sat up and shifted closer to the bars. "But you hide the truth behind such a thick veil of words that no one can discern it."

"It is discernable for those who seek it."

"Well _that's_ bloody helpful." He watched Libertas take a drink of water straight from the pitcher. "That water is drugged."

The centaur regarded him with pupils that were already dilating. "It is sometimes better if one cannot see clearly. Looking upon the sun will blind you."

_I'd get more sense from the jarvey five cages down_.

Suddenly Remus heard voices, and he slowly got to his feet. One of the voices belonged to Gerry; the other was unfamiliar and very American. That voice belonged to a man who was tall and thin, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He looked friendly enough, but Remus saw Libertas recede into the shadows in the back of his cage when the man drew near.

"Well, look what we have here. It's the new addition to our little family," said the man with a broad grin.

Gerry interrupted before Remus could say anything. "This is Bill Parsons, uh, Lupin. He's me da's partner. He's the one who can fix things up here for you."

"Not even here a full day, and I hear you've got demands." The American was still smiling, as if he was just making a joke, but there was something in his tone that made Remus's hackles rise.

"The only _demand_ I have is for you to let me go," Remus said calmly.

Parsons snickered. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. That's just not going to happen — not now at any rate. So, why don't we see what we can do to make you comfortable?"

"How long do you intend to keep me here?"

Bill's eyes narrowed. "Not the friendliest one, are you?"

"Not when I've been brought here and kept here against my will," Remus snapped.

The American regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then twisted his lips into another smile. "Here's the thing, pup. You need us right now. I can just shut the curtains, and forget about you, and you can just die here without anyone knowing the difference. I'll drag your dead carcass out myself and throw it over the hill and go get another werewolf. Or, you can just get over that attitude and make yourself useful. You'll get fed and a place to sleep — hell, I'll even make sure Gerry gets you whatever books you're wanting. But, the whole gist of it is that you're here now. You're ours now. And how miserable you are depends on what you make of it. Got it?"

Remus held Bill's stare for as long as he could while he considered what to say and do next. Fact was, there was little he could do, and he knew it. "Yes. I've got it." He looked away, and heard Gerry's heavy sigh of relief.

"Oh, and another thing," the American said. "I'd better never hear that you've been talking to our visitors. If I find out you've as much as even said 'hello' to any of them, I will put a silver bullet in your head myself. Understood?"

He snapped his gaze back to Parsons' face at the man's threat, but all he could see in the man's eyes was a deliberate coldness.

_Trapped._

Again, there was nothing he could say or do other than, "Yes. I understand," as he looked away.

He missed Bill's self-satisfied smirk.

Bill Parsons walked into the office and slammed the door shut behind him. He stood there, hands on hips, glaring at Gerald Bentley, who slowly raised his eyes from the paperwork in front of him.

"What's wrong?"

The American sat down heavily in the chair next to the desk. "I should have never let you talk me into listening to Carmichael, that bastard."

Bentley carefully placed his quill in the inkbottle and folded his hands on top of the desk.

"Of all the fucking werewolves in Great Britain, he brought us _that_ one," Parsons continued.

"What's wrong?" Bentley repeated the question, slightly louder this time.

"He's trouble. He's — _smart._ It's just a matter of time before he starts trying to escape. I wouldn't put it past him to try tonight. Why the hell didn't you just do what I suggested in the first place?"

"Which was —?"

"To just advertise! Surely we could have found a werewolf, somewhere, that would have desperate enough to join up with us for a while!" The American raked his fingers through his hair.

Bentley shook his head. "No werewolf would willingly do what we need him to do."

"_That_ one's going to fight us every step of the way."

Bentley leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "So, what do you suggest we do with him?"

Parsons muttered something.

The Englishman grunted. "We've invested one thousand Galleons in him. We can't do that until we've gotten at least that much out of him."

"Well, hell, Ger, how long is it going to take to recoup that? How much is werewolf blood going for now?"

"If we can get it when he's transformed, a half litre of it is worth at least twenty Galleons."

"How much blood is in a werewolf? Can we just bleed him dry at the first full moon and get it over with?"

Gerald Bentley sighed and leaned forward again. "Bill, we've got Anti-Apparition spells, warding spells and charms, and Merlin knows what else all over the place out there. There's no way he can escape, and remember — _we're_ the ones with wands. He doesn't have his."

"I know, I know. I just don't like it."

"We don't have to like it. We just have to control him for a few months."

"Damn Carmichael. Why didn't he bring us a _stupid_ werewolf? Why didn't he bring us one that was a Muggle?"

"Because this one is a good choice, like it or not. He knows how to take care of creatures, and —"

"You know Carmichael only picked him because Lupin wasn't crawling on his belly in fear."

Bentley smiled. "That's probably true."

"He made this into a personal thing, and Lupin knows it. He's dangerous."

"Lupin or Carmichael?" The American didn't seem to think that was funny, so Gerald Bentley added, "At any rate, Lupin's locked in a cage with silver-plated bars."

"But there will be two times every day when he won't be." Bill sounded sulky.

"Then, again, what do you suggest?" Bentley asked impatiently.

Parsons sighed. "I have no idea, but, Ger, we're gonna have to break him to keep him."

Bentley shrugged. "Then if that's what we have to do, that's what we have to do. I'll leave him for you to deal with as you see fit. Just get at least a thousand Galleons out of him before you kill him."

An hour after Parsons' visit, Remus had to admit he was more bored than he had ever been in his life. Improvements (that weren't really much in the way of improving anything) had been made to his cell: a bucket had been tucked into the back corner for sanitary purposes, and Bill had — after several disgusting jokes — conjured a curtain for privacy. Remus also now had a thin, straw-filled mattress which Gerry had scrounged from somewhere. After sprawling on it to read, Remus still wasn't sure if it was any more comfortable than being directly on the ground. He also had a pitcher of water which he hoped wasn't drugged.

He sat up and tossed the book — a paperback copy of _Great Expectations _by Charles Dickens — onto the thin pillow, which was stained with something unidentifiable. Remus doubted even a _Scourgify_ would take care of it. He wished he had something he could lean back against. As he sat there wondering what it would take to convince Bill to give him a chair, he heard footsteps — Gerry, he realized.

The boy was carrying a tall metal signpost and a placard of some sort dangled from it. Remus gave him an inquiring glance, but the younger Bentley just smiled, set the sign beside the cage, and hurried away again.

There was no way to read what it said from this side. But the centaur across the aisle could, if he could be roused from the drug-induced drowsiness.

Remus moved to stand as close to the bars as he could and hissed, "Hey, Libertas."

The creature's head jerked and he blinked, bleary-eyed, at Remus.

"What's this sign say?"

"Can you not read it?" the centaur asked, sounding rather put out.

"Not from this side," Remus said impatiently.

"Can you not guess?" Libertas whispered.

"If I wanted to guess, I'd…" Remus suddenly stopped speaking. He had suddenly realized that an identical signpost hung in front of Libertas' cage. The placard said in bold letters, "Centaur." Smaller print below that gave facts about centaurs: where and how they lived, about their skill in Astronomy and Divination. Remus could now guess some of what his own placard said.

"I'm in a fucking zoo." He had known it, really he had. Hadn't he? Panic hit hard, driving the air from Remus's lungs.

"Yes," Libertas agreed quietly.

Remus staggered back to the pail and heaved everything that was in his stomach.

"…says here werewolves will attack themselves if they can't attack a human."

"Why do they even let werewolves live if they're so dangerous?"

The young man — who appeared the same age as Remus — hurried to assure his girlfriend that the thing — _the thing _— was locked up and couldn't hurt anyone now.

"Read this, Alfie! Says a werewolf looks like any other human, that you'd never know he was a werewolf…"

"Bet you'd know the difference if he was ripping your throat out."

Laughter followed the two men as they went on.

_Will this nightmare never end?_ Remus wondered.

"Look, Mummy! A real werewolf!"

"Surely not!"

_Guess again._

"But it says so, Mummy, right on the sign!"

"My goodness!"

_No goodness about any of this._

"You have to admit, Sarah, that if they've got an Erumpent, they're mad enough to have a werewolf."

_Or stupid enough._

"David, get back from those bars, you don't want to get too close."

_Yes, David, get away from the silver bars before the big, bad wolf grabs you._

"Doesn't look that dangerous, does it, Sarah?"

"No, I suppose not _now_, but —"

"Daddy, why is he just laying there like that?"

"You don't suppose it can hear us, Donald?" The woman sounded panicked.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose so. There's probably some kind of Silencing Charm… Hey, you. Can you hear us?"

_Bugger off. Idiot. _

"Look, Daddy! It's a horse, with a man's head!"

"That's a centaur, David. Remember that story I read to you not so long ago…"

Their voices faded somewhat as they crossed the aisle to stare at Libertas. Remus curled himself into a tighter ball and wondered if he'd die of his burns if he held onto the silver bars long enough. He decided it would take too long.

It was not long after that — right after a small boy started throwing peanuts at him — that Remus sat up and started analyzing the cage he was in. It wasn't even big enough to pace. Four and a half short strides would take him across the width of it, and six from front to back.

The bars didn't just rest on top of the ground. Every other bar was actually driven into the dirt, though how deep they went, he couldn't tell. Remus had nothing to scrape at the hard ground with, and he wasn't getting his hands that close to the silver to dig with his fingernails — not yet, at any rate. Of course, a couple more days like this, and he just might be desperate enough to do it.

_If only I could Disapparate out of here…_

Sudden realization left him nearly senseless for a moment. How could he have forgotten?

He stood up, which startled a solitary individual wrapped in thick robes into scurrying away from the cage. He pictured his destination clearly, Merlin knew he had the determination — and deliberately reached with his mind…

Nothing happened. He tried two or three more times with similar results. Would they have thought to put Anti-Apparition wards on him? That was the only explanation he could think of. Unless he just wasn't concentrating hard enough. Or could it be that he wasn't even in England anymore? No, they had brought him here solely by Apparition — they couldn't have taken him far. Of course, he had made the jump from Calais to Dover…

He took a deep breath to steady himself then closed his eyes, again picturing his destination. The image of Pindar Alatza's farm solidified in his head —the trees, the shed, the low stone fence…

He didn't feel the familiar sensation of transitioning from place to place. The ground hadn't shifted beneath his feet, hadn't altered from hard dirt to soft grass. His nose was still tickled by sawdust, not by fresh air.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know he had failed again.

**5:17 p.m.**

Gerry returned. "Hey, Lupin," he said, as he fumbled for the key.

Remus was sitting on the mattress, his arms wrapped around his knees, his face buried in his arms. He didn't bother to look up.

"You all right?" The boy actually sounded concerned.

"Bloody fantastic," Remus muttered.

"What was that?"

Remus sighed and untangled himself. "Nothing. Not important."

"Oh. Well, it's almost time for the evening feeding. I brought you dinner."

Dinner was two thick, greasy hamburgers, which tasted a lot better than they looked.

"How'd it go this afternoon?" Gerry asked as Remus ate.

"I'm not ready to kill myself. Yet," the werewolf said, starting on a fairly thick, but stale, slice of chocolate cake.

"You're not serious?"

Remus gave the boy a long, steady stare until he flushed and looked away.

A tall glass of milk helped make the cake palatable, and Remus finished every last crumb. No, he wasn't ready to give up yet.

He motioned for Gerry to open the cell door. He was going to use every opportunity he could to find a way out of this place before it _did_ kill him.

16


	8. Chapter 7: Failings

A/N: In case you missed it, thanks to Zarathustra and SortingHat47 for their help and assistance.

I should also take the time to say that all animals/creatures referred to in this story can be found in "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."

Disclaimer: I wish I could come up with something clever to say here, but I'm not quite as good as Julie (remuslives23), so I'll just say, I'm not JKRowling. Never have been, never will be. I would never have killed Remus. (And I harbour bitter feelings about that…)

**Chapter 7: Failings**

**Thursday, 6 June, 1985—Noon**

Alastor Moody stumped purposefully through the Leaky Cauldron, casting suspicious glances around him as he did. He noticed two or three individuals stepping deeper into the shadows as his eyes passed over them, as if trying to avoid his attention. If he didn't have something more important to do at this moment, he might have taken the time to investigate further. As it was, however, he had someone to meet.

"Alastor!"

The Auror turned to look in the direction of the voice. A man was sitting at a table in the corner, waving a hand frantically to get Moody's attention. As he did, his large purple hat slid to the side of his head, threatening to fall. The little man stopped waving long enough to reposition the hat then waved again.

"I see you, Diggle," Moody growled as he got closer. "I'm not blind."

"Oh, I know, Moody, but it is dark in here…"

Alastor seated himself on the other side of the table. His back was to the wall, which was perfect as far as he was concerned. If Dedalus Diggle had been in this seat, he would have made the smaller wizard move. You'd never catch Moody sitting with his back to the room in any place, at any time. Even with his magical eye, it was too easy to miss the entrance of vengeful wizards and witches.

"I was a bit surprised to hear from you, Alastor," Dedalus chirped.

"It's been a while," Moody agreed. He pulled a flask from his pocket and waved Tom, the bar's owner, away. "But I've got a little mystery on my hands, and I need some help."

"Anything for a fellow Order member," Diggle said, his voice and facial expression sobering enough to assure Moody that he was taking this seriously.

The Auror twisted the cap from the flask. "When's the last time you saw Remus Lupin?"

"Remus?" Diggle's forehead creased in thought. "Oh, my. Let's see…was it, no. Hmm. I think it might have been a month ago, no, closer to two or three months ago. I remember because it was a warm day, and it was quite out of season, and —"

Moody cut him off. "So you haven't seen him recently, then."

"No. Why? Is everything all right with him?"

"He's gone missing."

"Missing? What do you mean he's missing?"

Alastor huffed in frustration. What was to be misunderstood? "What in the hell do you think I mean? The lad's missing. No one knows where he is. He's disappeared. He hasn't been to work in two days, his employer hasn't seen him, and he left his wand behind. Does that explain 'missing' enough for you?"

Diggle sank lower in his chair as Moody's voice increased in volume. By the time Moody had finished his tirade, the people at the tables nearby were looking at them with curiosity and not a little trepidation.

"I didn't know," Diggle replied meekly.

"That's why I'm asking you these questions," Moody explained gruffly. "Did you talk to him when you last saw him?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. We talked about my herb garden, and he promised to come around this summer to help me with my Knarl problem. Completely destroyed my garden last —"

Again, the Auror cut him off. "Where was he going when you talked to him last?"

"Where —?" The small wizard's lips moved noiselessly. "I have no idea, Alastor. For goodness' sake, it was two months ago. I don't remem—"

"Could you try?" Moody asked softly.

Dedalus blinked. "Well, he did say something about tutoring some children, and that he was staying at the house with them. I don't remember the last name, though."

The Auror nodded approvingly. "Good, good. What else?"

"I don't know what more I can tell you. Everything he told me is from at least two months ago. How can that possibly help you find him now?"

"Did he say if he was going to be visiting any friends, or tell you if he had a girlfriend or anything?"

Diggle thought about it and shook his head. "No, not that I can remember. Alastor, I haven't kept in touch with him. He was closer to you than anyone except the Potters and Pettigrew. And Black," the wizard's voice deepened with anger on the last name. "How in the world can you expect me to help you find him?"

Moody sighed and took a drink. He seemed to give a lot of thought to the words that he was going to say next. "Dedalus, let me ask you something."

"Certainly."

"Did you think that boy was guilty of passing on Order secrets to the Death Eaters?"

By the sudden flush across Diggle's cheeks, Alastor had his answer before the other wizard spoke. "I admit that I thought it might be Remus. We knew it had to be someone close to the Potters, and we all thought, no, we _knew_ it couldn't be Black. But what's that got to do with anything?"

"We owe him, Dedalus. He lost everyone who meant anything to him in the war, or else soon after. If I don't find him, there might be a handful of people who will notice he's gone. The fact that he's been missing for two days and no one but his employer has noticed isn't _right._ I need to find him so he knows that someone — that someone remembers him."

Dedalus bowed his head over his mug of butterbeer. "I wish I could help you, Alastor, and help him. Really, I do. All I can do is keep an eye out for him, and let you know if I hear anything. Will that do?"

"It will for now," Moody conceded, with a nod of his head. He took one more swig from the flask and then began to screw the lid back on. "Keep an ear out for the name Carmichael too."

"Carmichael?"

"Werewolf hunter."

Diggle reared back in the chair. "You think Remus —?"

"I don't know. I'm going to find out though." The determined look in Moody's real eye sent a chill down the smaller wizard's spine.

**Friday, 7 June—4:45 p.m.**

The staff meeting at Hogwarts was slowly coming to its conclusion.

"…a new Defense teacher next year," Dumbledore was saying.

Severus Snape looked up slowly. He suddenly regretted not listening to what the Headmaster had been saying up to this point. But the meeting had been somewhat lacking in excitement, and he had been lost in thought about how to propose a change in the curriculum for the third and fourth years. The phrase spoken by Dumbledore drove all thoughts of the proposal out of Snape's head.

"That job's cursed," Professor Kettleburn grumbled. "Can't keep a good teacher in that spot."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say it's cursed," Professor Flitwick said, cheerfully. "After all, Sellers is still alive, in one piece, and walking. He has a new, possibly better job too."

"He's leaving because his uncle and father were killed by trolls, and he has to take over the family business," Kettleburn argued. "It's hardly a happy occasion."

"Who will you get to replace him?" Minerva McGonagall asked the Headmaster.

"Someone will turn up," Dumbledore said, with an unconcerned wave of his hand. "Someone always does."

Sibyll Trelawney suddenly rose from her seat. "Perhaps I should go consult the fates," she said in a breathy voice. "Maybe I can assist in finding the perfect —"

"It's quite all right, Sibyll," Dumbledore assured her, motioning for her to be seated again. "We'll wait until the term is over, and then I'll start the search. Until then, we'll just take turns taking Professor Sellers' classes."

A short period of time was then spent dividing up the teaching of the Dark Arts classes for the next three weeks. Severus now found himself considering how best to present himself to the Headmaster for the position of Defense professor.

"There's just one more thing," Dumbledore said, interrupting Snape's thoughts, and regaining everyone else's attention. "Alastor Moody has informed me that Remus Lupin has disappeared."

Severus ground his teeth together so hard that pain shot through his jaw. What did it matter to him if a werewolf had gone missing? Was he the werewolf's keeper?

"It was under rather unusual circumstances," the Headmaster continued. "There may have been a werewolf hunter by the name of Carmichael involved. So, Alastor wanted me to ask you, especially those who know Remus, to be watching and listening for anything that might tell us where Remus has disappeared to."

"How long has he been missing?" the Arithmancy professor asked.

"Only a few days, but as it seems that foul play may be involved, Alastor would like any information he can get as quickly as he can get it. If you do hear anything, however, make sure you send it directly to Alastor. Remus hasn't been officially been proclaimed 'missing' yet, and Alastor's concerned about calling too much attention to his unofficial enquiries."

"He was in your year, wasn't he, Severus?" Kettleburn asked.

"Yes." The Potions professor put as much venom into that one word as he could. He didn't want reminded of Lupin; he didn't want reminded of the time when he almost died at Lupin's hands, er, claws — and teeth.

"I will consult the Orb," Trelawney said firmly, rising again to her feet. "The All-Seeing Eye will be able to —"

"You might want to put wolfsbane around your crystal ball before trying to search for Lupin," Severus advised, before getting to his feet and sweeping past her with a disdainful flip of his robes.

**Saturday, 8 June—12:20 a.m.**

Remus emptied the bag of sawdust into the Clabbert's enclosure, coughing at the dust. Above him, in an artificial tree created specifically for the Clabbert, the animal sneezed, sending down wet drops all over the werewolf.

"Thanks, mate," Remus muttered, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt.

The Clabbert grinned at him.

"Hey, uh, Lupin," Gerry suddenly appeared at the bars and peered in at him. "Bill says to hurry. We've got less than an hour."

"Then maybe Bill needs to get in here and help," Remus said in an undertone. A little louder, he said, "I'm almost done. I've only got Libertas left."

"Lib— oh, Bertie."

Remus poked the shovel through the bars for the younger man to grab, and waited for him to open the door.

"Bill wants to know if the mermaid is going to live."

"Is he going to release her?" Remus asked sharply.

Gerry squirmed. He had been hearing a lot of these kinds of comments from Remus about all of the sick animals, and the hotter answers from Bill, and he wasn't appreciating being in the middle. "No. You know he won't."

"Then, no, she's probably going to die."

"There's nothing you can do?"

Remus slammed the Clabbert's door shut, startling the animal into trying to hide in the fake leaves. "I can't do anything with a mermaid that's pining for the Mediterranean."

"Bill won't like that."

"Bill can just —" Remus stopped speaking. He could almost hear James and Sirius telling him exactly what Bill could do. With a shake of his head, but without completing the statement, he turned to go back to the storage room.

The American stood right in front of him.

"You want to finish what you were saying?" Bill asked.

Remus didn't allow the drawl to fool him. He could sense as much as see the tension in Bill's body.

"Do you want me to?"

"What are you doing for that mermaid?"

Remus shrugged. "Not much I can do. She won't eat. She wants to go back home."

"It's your job to make sure she eats, and it's your job to make sure she stays alive," Bill reminded him.

"I've been here for three days. You can't hold me responsible for her death when you've obviously ignored her state up until now."

Bill took a step closer to Remus. "If she dies, I'll take it out of your hide, _wolf_."

"Fine. You do that." The werewolf held Bill's gaze for a moment longer, then looked away. "I have to —"

He didn't get a chance to tell what he had to do. Bill grabbed his arm and twisted it viciously behind his back, then shoved him up against the bars of the Clabbert's cage, pinning him there. Inside the cage, the animal squealed in fright and swung from one branch to another, the spot in the middle of its forehead flashing deep red in warning.

"You are just not going to learn until I beat it into you, are you?" Bill's breath was hot against his ear. "Is that what you want?"

"No." Remus whispered. A sudden, sharp jerk set every tendon and nerve in his shoulder and elbow ablaze. He couldn't help wincing loudly.

"I will if I need to," Bill told him. "Hear me?"

"Yes." _Probably get it beaten into me anyhow._

Bill released his arm, and Remus slowly began to lower it.

The shock of Bill's fist in his left kidney landed him on the floor, gasping. The toe of Bill's boot then caught him squarely in the ribs.

Gerry retreated behind the wheelbarrow.

"Get your work done," Bill ordered, looking from Remus to Gerry. "And nothing but bread and water for you tonight, wolf." He turned and stomped off without another word.

Remus gingerly pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The younger Bentley said and did nothing. "Well, that was fun," Remus said breathlessly, reaching for the cage bars to help himself to his feet.

"I didn't know he was right there," Gerry admitted.

_Would you have told me if you had known?_ Remus flexed his shoulder and rubbed it with his other hand.

"Are you okay?"

"Would you stop asking me that?" Remus snapped. "No, I'm not okay. I'm _here_; I can't go _home_. I can't leave. I'm _trapped_, Gerry. I am going to get the piss beaten out of me often, unless I find some way to perform miracles…. How in the hell can I be okay?"

The boy swallowed hard and looked away. "I'll clean out Bertie's cage for you," he offered finally.

Remus shook his head. "No." He sighed, and decided he didn't hurt as bad as he feared he would: as long as he didn't breathe too deeply, or move his arm in _that_ direction… "I'll be — okay."

**Sunday, 9 June—afternoon**

Even after only five days, Remus was able to recognize a pattern. Families with young children or curious old men would come through in the early afternoon. Mid- and late afternoons were filled with older children who were probably on their way home from school. Young men were frequent visitors in the evenings, as were men who had obviously been to pubs and had come by for a final adventure before going home to their wives.

Muggles were as equally intrigued by the Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures as wizards. Remus listened closely to their amused and bemused comments as they worked their way through the tent. They found the animals interesting, certainly, but spent most of the time trying to figure out how the animals had been created. The word 'robot' was mentioned a lot. The fact that Muggles were so easily convinced that the creatures were man-made was the main reason that the Ministry turned a blind eye to the operation of such carnivals all through the British Isles.

As far as the 'Werewolf' exhibit, the Muggles seemed disappointed that he wasn't transformed, and even more upset that he wouldn't transform when they demanded it of him. They asked, they pleaded, they cursed, they yelled — Remus ignored them all. Most times, he concentrated on the book he had in front of him. He had already finished _Great Expectations_, and was now reading something that he didn't like well enough to remember the title of. It was all he had to distract him from the curious Muggles and the fearful, yet contemptuous wizards.

"Look at it."

"Doesn't look scary at all, right now."

"Wait until the full moon and tell me that!"

It was rare that either Muggles or wizards said anything more original than those three lines. Remus began keeping a mental count in his head every time he heard himself called 'it' (two hundred twenty-three times in three days). By his count, during that same time period, Libertas was referred to as 'it' one hundred eighty-six times. Remus also began to keep track of how many times he heard himself referred to as 'not very scary' (ninety-four times in the same three days). He didn't have much more than that to help him pass the time. It also kept him from concentrating on the hateful things that were said: that werewolves should be exterminated; that creatures like him didn't deserve to exist; that he was a waste of life.

James would have put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him with brotherly affection and said it didn't matter what_ they _said, because he knew Remus wasn't anything like they thought. Peter would have patted his shoulder awkwardly, and said he was sorry that Remus felt so badly. Sirius would have hugged him, thumped him on the back, and then cursed every single last one of the bastards whose words were like blades in Remus's heart.

Remus tried not to think about Sirius. But the bars always reminded him….

**11:35 p.m.**

It was late; the carnival was closed. Parsons and Bentley had just walked through the tent, making sure all the animals were secure, and reminding Remus of particular tasks he had to accomplish the next morning. Remus had again asked for the chance to shower properly (Gerry had been hosing him off after cleaning out the cages), and was again denied. Chuckling quietly to themselves, the two carnival owners had left, and moments later the lights went out. That's when Libertas spoke.

"Wolf."

"Horse."

"I am no horse," The centaur said, annoyed.

Remus shrugged, not stopping to think that Libertas couldn't see him. "I'm not a wolf." All the same, he moved closer to the bars at the front of his cage.

"Where do you come from?" the centaur asked.

"Most recently I was living in London, and in Reading," Remus said. "Where is your herd?"

"In the northwest of England. The humans call it the Mersey Forest."

"I was there a few times." Remus again found himself wishing that he could lean back against the bars. "The last time I was there, I went with my father to catch a Golden Snidget that had escaped from a Snidget sanctuary."

"How long ago was that?" the centaur asked. He sounded wistful.

Remus considered. His father had been dead for four and a half years now…. "Five years ago. How long has it been since you were there?"

"Five years," Libertas replied quietly.

Remus was glad the centaur couldn't see the look of shock he knew had to be on his face. "You've been here for five years?"

There was the stamp of a hoof in sawdust. "Yes."

Remus was silent, waiting to see if Libertas was going to elaborate. He didn't. "I didn't know any centaurs lived there," the werewolf finally remarked. "I'm not surprised. It was beautiful there."

"Yes, it was."

The jarvey rattled off a series of curses and the Hippogriff squawked as if in answer.

"Good night, wolf." Libertas suddenly said. He turned so that his back was to Remus, effectively cutting off the conversation.

"Good night, horse."

Remus lay awake for a long time, his mind flitting from one topic to another, unable to concentrate. He could tell from the sound of the centaur's breathing that Libertas was also having a hard time falling asleep.

**Monday, 10 June—10:08 a.m.**

Remus shovelled the soiled bedding from each cage into a wheelbarrow, which Gerry would then push outside to empty. The werewolf always took advantage of the boy's absence to look for any kind of weakness that he could exploit in order to escape. He had been consistently disappointed up until now, but he refused to give up. There had to be some way out of here!

He stood right outside the Fwooper's cage, leaning on the shovel, examining the drying blisters on his hands, when something sidled into the edge of his vision. He looked quickly — and saw a common field mouse. It was creeping slowly forward, nose twitching, body quivering, searching for any spilled grain or seeds.

"I'd stay out of the cages if I were you," Remus said quietly, the left side of his mouth hitching up in a half-smile.

The mouse froze at the sound of his voice.

"Half of the animals in here would find you a tasty snack."

Frightened, the mouse ran back the way it came: behind the Fwooper's cage and through a rip in the canvas. Remus stared at the tear, and then glanced over his shoulder to where Gerry had disappeared.

There was no time to lose. He dropped the shovel and wiggled on his belly between the Fwooper's cage and the empty one next to it. The tear in the canvas was as wide as his shoulders, so it was going to be perfect….

He slowly parted the ripped fabric and for the first time in days, got a good look at the outside. There were no buildings or tents on this side — and it would be just one quick dash to the nearest tree line. He could do this. Even with the damned chains on his legs.

He was halfway out when he heard Gerry's voice, "Lupin? Where are you?"

Several curse words exploded in his head, and he rose up on his elbows, preparing to pull his legs through the opening, when….

**11:23 a.m.**

He awoke slowly. His head hurt as it had the day after James Potter's bachelor party. He still didn't remember everything that had happened that night; but he remembered waking up in an unfamiliar bed with a dancer named Shirley. Unfortunately, Shirley was not available for this rise to consciousness. Instead, Bill Parsons was standing over him now, grinning broadly.

"I knew you'd try to run. I've been waiting for it."

Remus gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts. "Glad I didn't disappoint," he finally gasped.

"Oh no, you didn't do that." No, Bill looked quite happy, as a matter of fact.

Remus was suddenly very, very worried.

**12:10 p.m.**

Gerald Bentley had been listening to the rough laughter and shouts for several minutes, even through the closed doors and windows, before he decided to go see what was happening. His son was sitting on the steps right outside the office door.

"I thought you and Lupin were feeding the creatures," he said gruffly.

"I was. We were." Gerry shrugged. "But then Lupin tried to escape."

"Bloody hell."

"Bill caught him with a Stunner," Gerry said in a neutral tone that implied both assurance and warning. How the boy did that, Gerald Bentley didn't know.

"He didn't kill him, did he?"

Gerry screwed his face up, trying to work out the pronouns. "No. Bill's just teaching him a lesson, he said. Jack and Wally are helping him."

The elder Bentley listened for a few minutes, noticing that his son cringed every time Lupin cried out.

"You're not getting friendly with the wolf, are you?"

"No sir!" Gerry said quickly. "It's just — I don't like to hear — animals suffer."

Bentley nodded. "Good." He stood, rife with uncertainty. Should he go check on Bill, who had a tendency to be overzealous? Should he let Bill just administer whatever punishment he saw fit? After all, hadn't he told Bill he'd leave the werewolf in Bill's hands to deal with? The thought of the one thousand Galleons slipping through his fingers made him queasy.

"Did you finish feeding the creatures?" he suddenly asked his son.

"Uh, no. I wasn't sure if Lupin would —" The boy stopped suddenly and shrugged.

"I don't think Lupin's going to be up for it," Bentley said. Another yelp of pain seemed to punctuate that statement. "You might as well finish up."

"Yes sir," said Gerry. He scurried off.

With a deep sigh, Bentley went off in the opposite direction — to where the noise was coming from.

**12:15 p.m.**

Remus wiped at his eyes with the back of his right hand and got slowly to his knees.

"I warned you," Bill was saying. "Didn't I?"

"Yes," Remus whispered, closing his eyes. The attempt to clear them hadn't helped at all.

The whip fell again, across his shoulders and curling around his bicep. Bill knew exactly how to twist it so that it bit into the skin as it untangled itself. It was extremely painful and extremely bloody. Remus hissed as the tip of the lash came free, flicking him on the ear as it went by.

"The minute you even set a toe out of the tent, I know it," Bill told him. "You think I'm so stupid that I won't place wards all over the place?"

"I hoped so," Remus muttered.

That earned him a probably well-deserved cuff on the side of his head.

"If you ever — and I mean _ever _— try a stunt like that again, you're going to get it twice as bad as you did now. You got it?"

"Yes."

"Are you done then?" came Bentley's voice.

"Just finishing up," Bill told him.

"How many times did you hit him?"

"Enough that he'll learn his lesson. Maybe. I'll throw some healing potion in some water later. It won't even scar."

Bentley grunted with satisfaction. "You might want to close the cage off so no one is — alarmed by his appearance."

"Are you kidding?" laughed Bill. "This is the best thing I could've done. They want him to be bloody, as if he was just coming back after the full moon. They'll think he did it to himself. They'll love it!"

Knowing human nature (Muggle and wizard) as he did, Remus wasn't surprised to find that Bill was right — the public truly did love seeing a bloody werewolf.

**11:37 p.m.**

"Wolf."

Remus sighed. "Horse."

"You tried to escape."

"Yes." The werewolf shifted and grimaced from the feel of scabs cracking.

There was a moment of quiet, then, "How far did you get?"

"Not bloody far enough."

"Will you — try again?"

"At the next chance I get," Remus vowed.

**Tuesday, 11 June—9:04 a.m.**

"Alatza!"

Pindar Alatza turned to see Alastor Moody limping towards where he was standing in front of the lifts. He waved in acknowledgement.

"You getting on or not?" demanded an important-looking wizard in Wizengamot robes, who was holding the lift door open.

The merchant shook his head. "Not."

The other wizard gave him a disgusted look and removed his hand. The lift door slid closed right away. Pindar stepped aside to wait for Moody.

"You here to report Lupin missing?" the Auror asked as he drew closer.

Alatza nodded. "Have you heard anything?"

"Not a damned thing. It's frustrating."

"Nothing about that werewolf hunter?"

Moody's magical eye swivelled madly. "No. He's reportedly crawled back to whatever rock he lives under. Now that you're here to file that report, I should be able to go question him, find out whatever he knows. Come on." He steered Alatza to the nearest lift.

"You know, I feel rather responsible for all this," the merchant said quietly. "I told him I'd be there first thing in the morning to get him. I wasn't."

"You didn't know," Alastor said sharply.

They pressed themselves against the back wall, and fell silent as other witches and wizards filled the lift. Both men remained lost in their own thoughts until they reached the floor where the Aurors' offices were.

"Considering how nervous he'd been, I should have been there earlier. I should have been there when the moon set," Alatza continued as if the conversation had never been interrupted.

"No use beating yourself up over this. Remus knows it's not your fault."

"Do you think he's still — alive?"

Moody felt his heart thump painfully. "He's survived worse."

Alatza gave him a sidelong look. "Has he?"

"That's what I'm hoping," the Auror muttered under his breath.

**9:51 a.m.**

Alastor Moody shoved the door open to the Werewolf Services office and stood there unmoving and immoveable.

"Mr Moody!" Jane exclaimed, rising from behind her desk. "How are you?"

"Been better, lass, been better." He took the couple of steps required to reach the counter. "I've got a question for Hennessey, but I see he isn't here."

"No, he's out and around — he tends not to spend too much time here." Jane made a face. "He's afraid of werewolves, I think."

Moody smiled. "I know of at least one werewolf that he _should_ be afraid of."

Jane came over and leaned on the counter. "How is Mr Lupin? Margie said she gave him his jacket."

"That she did. He appreciated it. But, as far as how he is now, well, that's one reason why I'm here."

The woman's eyes widened. "He isn't sick or hurt, is he? Or — worse?"

"Well, see, that's part of the problem. I can't find him. He's just disappeared. I was wondering if Hennessey could shed any light on the situation for me."

"Hennessey?" Jane's mouth sagged open. "You think he had something to do with it?"

"I'm not saying he did or he didn't. I'm just hoping he'll know something."

"How long has he been missing?"

"A week now. Ever since the full moon."

"Oh, my. Poor Mr Lupin."

There was a noise behind the Auror, but, even without turning, he was able to see that it was Margie.

"Margie, Mr Moody was just telling me that nice Mr Lupin is missing."

"The cute one?"

"Yes," Jane replied.

"That's terrible!" The dark-haired girl walked around the counter to stand next to Jane. "Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Well, now, if I had any idea, he wouldn't be missing," Moody said, trying not to be too short with her.

The fact was, he was growing more irritated by the day, by the minute — with Lupin, of all people. Here were two women who seemed concerned for Remus. The handful of others that Moody had talked to about Lupin's disappearance — Diggle, Aberforth Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, and others — were also upset and worried. So, considering how many people Remus Lupin had known, considering how many people seemed to like him, how in the _hell_ did it happen that he kept to himself so much that no one knew _anything_ about his life now?

Moody had to admit that he was as guilty as anyone. He had Owled the boy occasionally, just to keep tabs on him, but he had never noticed that Remus had kept details of his life very, very close. Damn it! How could Moody find someone who had, for all intents and purposes, been slowly vanishing over the past few years anyhow?

**Thursday, 13 June—6:23 p.m.**

It was too much to resist. There was that one moment, when Gerry had his back turned, and they were right at the tent's entrance. Remus had considered several escape plans, and discarded every one of them; except this one.

He edged his way to the tent flap then ducked through it. Bright sunlight blinded him, disorienting him, making him forget to picture his destination, destroying his concentration — and so, instead of Disapparating, he stood frozen for a moment — a deer in front of an basilisk, Sirius would have said. The moment was too long: someone yelled, and there was a bang as a Binding Spell hit, and then — there was pain. Lots and lots of pain.

**11:45 p.m.**

"Wolf?"

"Gods, _horse_…" It hurt to talk. It hurt to bloody think. He groaned.

"They will keep you from escaping."

Remus said nothing. He was too busy trying not to feel anything.

"Will you try again?"

The werewolf slowly rolled over, wincing as broken ribs grated against each other. "Shut up, Bertie," he whispered. _Small breaths. No, oh Gods, no. Not even that deep_.

"Wolf."

Wh_at does it take to get him to shut UP?_

"When you escape…"

_Escaping from Azkaban is easier than this._

"…take me with you."

He tried to lift his head, but couldn't. "Bugger off, Bertie."

The centaur left him alone after that.

**Thanks to those wonderful people who have reviewed and put this story on alert! I appreciate it as much as seeing David Thewlis naked... And that's a LOT. (If you've seen him naked, you know what I mean. Excuse me while I laugh evilly...)**


	9. Chapter 8: Numbed

Carnival

A/N: Always and forever, thanks to SortingHat47, and to Zarathustra for all their hard work. Thanks to allycat1186, Liv Naravul, and Wolviesfan for their fabulous reviews and for supertramp and the others who put this on alert. Thewlis-filled dreams for remuslives23 who constantly puts up with my whining and complaining!

Disclaimer: Again… Did Remus die in DH? Yes. Thusly, I didn't write it.

Also… should mention I sorta kinda lifted part of a Thewlis line from "Kingdom of Heaven." You know, I'd probably go to confession a lot more if my priest looked like Thewlis… ANYHOW…

**Chapter ****8: Numbed**

**Friday, ****14 June, 1985—6:46 a.m.**

"Hey."

_Shove off, Gerry._

"Lupin?"

_So help me, if he asks me how I feel, I will rip his throat out._

"I've got breakfast for you."

Remus groaned. That was about the last thing he wanted right now.

The boy entered the cage with an exorbitant amount of noise, placed the tray next to Remus then stood gazing down at him. "Do you need help sitting up?"

_I need help out of here! _"Not hungry."

"Bill says you have to eat. You have to take these healing potions too. He says you still have to take care of the animals."

"If I eat, it'll just come back up."

"What?" Gerry asked, not understanding Remus' mumbling.

Remus turned his head so he could see the tray with the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. There was the typical glass of juice, some sausage and toast, and two small glass bottles. If the bottles contained the stuff they had given him before, they were potent healing potions. If he took them, he'd be pain-free while he took care of the other creatures — that would be good. But did he want to help the people who were keeping him here?

_Parsons__ will hurt me if I don't take them. _He hated himself for the thought. _I don't want to be weak. I don't want to give in. _But immediately on the heels of that thought was: _I don't want him to hurt me worse._

What did he have to lose if he didn't take the healing potions? He'd lost his freedom. He was losing his free will. He was obviously losing his courage too. _Fine Gryffindor you are. Haven't you hurt worse after the full moon?_ Yes. He had.

The Clabbert squealed once. Even after only a week, Remus recognized its hungry cry.

Who would feed them? Gerry? He'd been doing the best he could since Hector had gone, but the animals had been in pitiful condition.

Remus bit back a curse. He knew he was going to take the potions, whether or not Bill threatened him. He wasn't going to let his fellow inmates die of neglect.

He knew from experience that broken ribs were going to hurt no matter what, so he gathered all his strength, gritted his teeth against the expected agony, and pushed himself onto his elbows, and then up onto his knees.

Blood thumped in his ears, and he felt his stomach flip. He swallowed hard: _Can't vomit what's not there, _but his stomach was most assuredly trying to evict something_. _He heard Gerry's voice, but he had no idea what the boy was asking him. After a long moment, he felt it was safe enough to open his eyes; or at least the one good eye. He gingerly touched the swollen skin around his left eye. He couldn't help wincing. Still, he was up, and from the feel of things, he was going to stay up for a little while longer. At least his ribs had stopped screaming at him.

Gerry had the two potions in his hands. He had already removed the stoppers from both of them, and presented one of them to Remus, who accepted it with trembling hands.

"Cheers," he said, lifting one corner of his lips sardonically. It burned going down, and he gasped for a cooling breath as he handed the empty bottle back to Gerry. The potion was more potent than before. His stomach again tried to rebel, but he forced it back into submission. Before he could think about it, he grabbed the second bottle and downed its contents.

_DAMN!_

The bottle slipped from his fingers as Remus doubled over, bracing himself against the ground with one arm. He knew the potion was working, but the movement of broken bone, battered muscle and bruised skin was agonizing. It seemed to last forever, the potion overriding the body's natural healing tendencies: forcing blood vessels back into shape, bone to merge with bone, skin to knit over gaping wounds.

Remus drew a deep breath, and let himself flop over onto the floor. Newly healed ribs protested, but their complaint was nothing in comparison to what it had been before.

"Are you all right?" Gerry asked tentatively.

"Never better," Remus whispered, easing his left eye open; a little blurry, perhaps, but definitely an improvement.

"Are you ready for your breakfast?"

"Can you give me a minute?"

Gerry looked nervous. Remus could only guess the pressure that Bill had put on the boy to make sure the werewolf was up on his feet as soon as possible.

"I'll eat, I promise. I just need to — rest for a minute."

Gerry finally nodded curtly. "I'll let Bill know you're better." He reached down to pick up the bottle that Remus had dropped on the floor, then left the cell, making as much noise on his exit as he had on his entrance.

Remus again inhaled deeply, enjoying a few pain-free moments. It wasn't long until his stomach calmed to the point that the sausages actually smelled good. He turned onto his belly, then stretched just enough so that his fingertips hooked the lip of the tray.

"Wolf."

"Good morning to you, too, _Bertie_."

The centaur flicked his tail. "You are better?"

"For now." One sausage disappeared.

"Beware Scorpio."

"You've said that before."

"A scorpion stings when he fears being crushed beneath a heel."

"I don't think he has much to fear from me." Remus bit into a second sausage. "Especially now."

Libertas stepped away from the bars, again effectively ending the conversation.

A few minutes later, Gerry returned, a pitcher of water in hand.

"I brought you some water," he said. "I thought that juice might not be enough."

Remus nodded his thanks, and held out the glass. Gerry filled it nearly to the brim.

"Did you tell Bill I was better?" Remus asked before lifting the glass to his lips.

"Yeah. He was happy."

"Happy?" the werewolf repeated, almost alarmed. Bill and 'happy' went together as well as Remus and the full moon. Thinking about how it could only mean trouble for him,

Remus took a drink of the water. He observed Gerry's intense stare at the same instant he noticed the faint bitter aftertaste.

He flung the glass away from himself. "The water's drugged!"

Gerry took a step backwards, edging closer to the door. "It's just to calm you down."

"I've seen what it does! You're not doing that to me!"

"Bill says…"

"I'm not drinking it!"

Gerry gulped. "You know it's going to be bad if you don't."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that was growing. It _was_ going to be bad. If anything, Gerry was understating the situation. "I know. Look, tell him I won't try to escape." He saw the uncertainty in Gerry's eyes, and pushed a little further. "If you can't do that, then lie for me. Tell him I drank it."

He absolutely hated that he was begging. It grated on him in ways he never thought possible. Was he really that proud? Yes, he realized, he was. It was all he had left, and Bill Parsons was going to rip that from him as well. "Lie for me, Gerry. Or tell him I'll do whatever he wants, but I'm just not taking that potion. I can't." His voice faltered on the last word, sounding like a whimper.

Gerry slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry." His regret was real, Remus could tell. Unfortunately, it did nothing to help the situation. "He'll hurt me if he finds out," Gerry added in a whisper.

Remus didn't doubt that.

Bill Parsons stood outside the cage, looking in. The werewolf sat on the floor, legs bent, his knees drawn up to his chest by his encircling arms.

"I hear you won't drink the water," Bill said, noting how the Dark creature's shoulders had tensed when he had stopped in front of the bars.

"No."

"You have no choice in this."

The werewolf took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Yes, I do. I actually have two choices. I can take it willingly — or not." He actually smiled — _smiled _— as he said the last two words.

Bill's eyes narrowed. Was the thing making fun of him? "Then, your choice is to — what?"

The werewolf unfolded himself and stood, his right foot slightly behind his left so that his body was angled towards Bill. The carnival owner recognized a duelling stance when he saw one, though how the beast was going to duel without a wand was beyond him.

"Look, the sooner you accept the way things are around here, the better off you'll be," Bill pointed out, stripping his jacket off, and laying it beside the cage door carefully.

"That depends on your definition of 'better off.'" The werewolf shrugged.

Parsons brought his wand up slowly, letting the creature see it, letting him know exactly who had the power around here. Then he aimed it straight at the werewolf's chest. "Petrificus Totalus."

The creature sidestepped it.

Behind him, Bill heard Jack mutter something under his breath.

Undeterred, Parsons sent a _Stupefy _at the werewolf. The animal threw itself on the ground then quickly got to its knees, almost immediately prepared for the next curse. Bill was ready and flung another Stunner off in his direction. Again, the werewolf dropped to the ground to avoid the hex, and seemed to be waiting for the carnival owner to hurl another spell at him when he rose up into a crouch.

"Fast bugger, ain't he?" Wally mumbled.

"He is at that," Bill agreed. He opened the cage door with an _Alohomora_, and stalked in. The werewolf kept both eyes on him, waiting for his next move.

Bill motioned to Jack to move to his left, Wally to his right. Gerry hovered in the doorway, a bottle of potion marked 'Torpeus Draught' in his hand.

"This is your last chance, wolf," Parsons said, jerking his chin in Gerry's direction.

The werewolf didn't take his eyes away from Bill.

Jack and Wally knew what to do. They'd had to do this before with stubborn creatures. They both rushed toward the wolf-man, forcing him back against the side of the cage. The werewolf hissed and swore loudly at the impact with the silver bars. Welts began to rise where skin had come in contact with the silver.

"Keep him there, boys," Bill said.

That, however, was easier said than done. The werewolf twisted violently in Wally's grip, then ducked under his arm. Wally tried to grab the werewolf's arm again, and with his other hand, reached for the belt loops on the creature's jeans. The werewolf's knee accidentally banged into Wally's thigh, knocking him off-balance. Jack, realizing that his cohort's grasp had slipped, tightened his grasp on the creature's arm and reached for hair — always a quick and easy way to either cause pain, create a distraction, or regain control. The werewolf yelped, then rammed into Wally purposely. The bigger man went down, unintentionally entwining his legs with the werewolf's, taking him to the ground as well. Jack threw himself on top of the creature, yelling for Bill.

The carnival owner leaned over the creature, smiling. "Willingly or not, huh?"

There was hate in the werewolf's eyes — but no fear. Not yet, at any rate. The muscles in his jaw were clenched tightly, and Bill knew if he tried to force the potion down the creature's throat, half of it would wind up on the floor, or on the carnival workers.

Certain that his two employees would be able to hold the animal down for a short time longer, Parsons went outside the cage door and picked up his jacket. It only took a moment to retrieve the two items he needed from the pockets.

"You know what this is, wolf?" he asked, going back to lean over the wolf. He held up a Muggle syringe in front of the werewolf's eyes. He saw the creature's eyes widen with horrified recognition.

He motioned for Gerry to come nearer, then removed the protective cover from the needle.

The werewolf began to buck and squirm, trying to dislodge Jack, and to jerk his arms away from Wally, who had them pinned to the ground.

Bill weighed the creature with his eyes and took the bottle from Gerry's hands. He slowly drew in a sizable amount of the potion into the syringe from the bottle.

There was definitely fear in the wolf's eyes now.

"Hold this, Gerry," Bill ordered. The teenager held it tentatively between his fingers, and Bill threw a warning look at him to hold it tighter.

Again, the werewolf tried to throw Jack off of him, but Bill held out the second object so it could be easily seen by the creature. The animal froze. "I could _Imperio_ you, you know. But, I know that you would fight it, and you might throw it off fairly quickly. I could _Stupefy_ you, but I think I'm going to enjoy this a whole lot more." The werewolf shuddered, but whether it was at Parson's tone, or the small silver-bladed knife in his hands, Bill didn't know. The carnival owner smirked.

The American knew there were spells to make seams dissolve, or to make clothing vanish completely, but the fact was that those were spells that he wasn't very good at. He didn't need them much, so he didn't practice them. Besides, in this case, it was a lot more satisfying to wedge the tip of the knife between the werewolf's hipbone and his clothing, and then saw away.

Between clenched teeth, the werewolf whimpered softly and winced when the silver touched skin, instantly raising welts, or when the blade pierced skin, bringing blood to the surface. Other than that, the creature was still, realizing that any movement at this point might embed the knife blade deeper into his body.

"Good boy," Bill said. Jack, who was now straddling the werewolf's legs, chuckled. Gerry, however, looked a little green around the gills. "Oh, hell, Gerry, I'm not hurting him. Not really."

The boy looked uncertain about that.

Finally, there was enough of the wolf's hip exposed to satisfy Bill. "You should be thankful I didn't just strip you completely," the carnival owner remarked, his face inches from the werewolf's. "There have been some very curious ladies coming through. I told Bentley we ought to let you start satisfying their curiosity. You'd be worth a lot more to us that way, you know." He grinned.

He snapped his fingers and held his hand out to Gerry, who gently laid the syringe in Bill's palm, with an almost apologetic glance at the werewolf.

"For Pete's sake, boy, get over it. He's a fucking _animal_. It's not as if he's human, or anything." And with that, Bill jabbed the needle into the somewhat fleshier area of the werewolf's hip. The creature cried out a single word — "No!" — and tried again to fight, but Parsons had anticipated something of the sort. He slammed his knee down on the werewolf's chest, knocking the wind and the fight out of the thing.

In the time it took to count to ten, the potion was completely injected into the werewolf. Bill spelled the creature's clothing back together with a simple stitching charm that had always proved useful for repairing canvas, and motioned for Jack and Wally to get up and leave the cage. Now free of the bodies and hands that had held him captive, the werewolf curled up into a ball.

Bill smiled tightly. "Gerry, give him about half an hour, then he'll be ready to help you out. He won't give you any trouble. Will you, wolf?"

He was laughing as he left the cell.

**Saturday, ****15 June—9:48 a.m.**

The tank was filled with water that was clean and clear, but the mermaid inside was lying in a huddled lump in the corner.

Dully, she watched the young man as he placed the fish on a tray on the edge of the tank—just as he had twice a day for the past ten days. She mourned the loss of the brightness of his blue eyes. He had been the only thing here that had seemed to understand her, and now she didn't even have that. _They_ had taken the spark from him, as they did all the beings that came here — especially those who had any intelligence to speak of.

He turned to go, but hesitated, looking at her with confusion, as if he should remember something, but for the life of him, couldn't think of what it was.

She stretched her hand out and placed it against the wall of the tank. She couldn't tell why she had done it. But he almost immediately put his hand against hers, looking pleadingly into her eyes as if hoping she could tell him something — anything — about what they were doing here.

But then the dark-haired boy came in and told her blue-eyed caretaker that they had to move on. He gave her one last regret-filled look then turned away from her.

She sank down into the very bottom of the tank, knowing that today would be her last day in this tank. She wondered how long the blue-eyed one would last.

**6:18 p.m.**

"Don't forget to bow to the hippogriff," the dark-haired boy said.

He stared at the boy uncomprehendingly.

The boy sighed and pointed to the next cage. "The hippogriff. Make sure you bow before you go in."

Oh. He stared at the creature inside the bars. Now that he was looking at it, he remembered that he was supposed to bow to it. Otherwise, it wouldn't let him near. He glanced down at the talons on the animal's front legs. How could he forget something so simple? He had fed the hippogriff this morning, hadn't he? Everything was so hazy… as if it were all a dream….

He gained eye contact with the hippogriff and then bowed. It hesitated for a moment before nodding its head approvingly, and he stepped into the cage.

He pulled a dead rat from the bucket and tossed it to the hippogriff. It caught the rodent midair with a sharp snap of its beak. Impressed, but wary, he tossed the rest of the rats, varying the arc slightly with each throw, if only to provide some kind of excitement in the hippogriff's day.

He didn't know why or how he knew that was important.

**7:30 p.m.**

The dark-haired boy brought him a pitcher of water, for which he was very grateful — his mouth was as dry as the tanbark right outside his cage. He noticed the water had a strange taste to it, and he thought he should be alarmed by that, but was too thirsty to care.

The horse-like creature across the aisle had attempted to talk to him, but his head felt too thick to comprehend what the animal was saying. It was only a short time before the beast gave up on him.

It was a bit of a relief, actually. He didn't know what to say. He nursed the water for as long as he could, but it was still gone within an hour. He didn't seem to mind the odd tangy aftertaste after all.

**Sunday, ****16 June--6:54 a.m.**

The dark-haired boy looked worried. "The mermaid died last night," he announced as he put down the metal tray. "Bill isn't happy."

Bill? The name brought the feeling of dread, but no real recollections. No, that wasn't quite true — there was the fleeting image of a man's face, and the memory of pain and fear. He had been reaching for the tray, but now he drew his hand back to his side.

"It's alright," the dark-haired boy said. "He knows you didn't do anything wrong."

His forehead wrinkled in worry, but the boy again reassured him that it was alright, and pushed the tray closer.

He ate quickly, ignoring the boy.

Footsteps in the corridor made him look up, and a man appeared outside the bars. His mind made the association quickly and with certainty. This was Bill.

His stomach lurched, and he scrambled backwards, further away from the other man. He stopped just short of the bars behind him — he already knew what they'd do to him. He'd found that out last night.

Bill laughed. "Gods, Lupin, if only you could see yourself. You're no better than an actual wolf now."

"He's worried you're mad at him about the mermaid," said the dark-haired boy.

Bill looked surprised for a moment. "He said that?"

"No, not exactly."

"Then what — exactly — did he say?"

"Nothing, but when I said you weren't happy, he looked upset."

Bill looked at him sharply, then back at the dark-haired boy. "Gerry, don't go getting attached to him, you hear?"

Gerry sighed. "I know, sir."

"Now, the two of you get moving. I need that mermaid exhibit cleared out before we open."

"Yes sir."

Gerry tried to get him to eat something more, but his stomach was too fluttery. He did drink the orange juice, and thought that the juice had the same aftertaste as the water. Again, he had the vague thought that he should be bothered by that, but couldn't remember why.

**11:34 a.m.**

He and Gerry were sweeping out the enclosure which had held the mermaid when the feeling of overwhelming sadness came over him.

The mermaid was dead. She had been kind to him. But there was more to it than that. Images flickered through his brain, and his broom came to a stop.

"Dead," he muttered.

Gerry looked over at him, a puzzled look on his face. "Yes, the mermaid's dead."

The boy seemed to be waiting for him to say more.

"James is dead," he said, suddenly putting a name to one of the images

"Who's James?" Gerry asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know." And yet, he thought perhaps that fact had once meant everything to him.

**Tuesday, ****18 June—6:51 a.m.**

Gerry shook his shoulder lightly. "Lupin. It's time to wake up."

Lupin? Who was Lupin? Oh, that was his name. He remembered that now. He started to untangle himself from the blanket, and yelped softly at the pain that shot through his hip.

"What's wrong?" Gerry asked, worried.

Lupin touched where the pain had been — and still was. "Hurts."

Gerry bit his lip then made a vague pointing motion. "Unzip, then. Let's see."

Unzip? Oh. There was a moment of trepidation before Lupin stood and unbuttoned, then unzipped the fly of his jeans, as if he was doing something he shouldn't be doing. Gerry helped him push his jeans and underwear down just enough to see that the cuts on his hip from Bill's knife were red, puffy, and leaky with infection.

"Shit," Gerry muttered. "Stay here. I'll get Bill."

Lupin grabbed Gerry's arm. The speed of it surprised them both. "No," Lupin said. "Not Bill."

"It will be alright. He won't hurt you. He'll just heal you up. I promise."

"No." He shook his head. He knew what to do; he didn't need Bill. He just needed… he just needed…. The fuzz in his head kept him from remembering the name of the stuff he needed. He vaguely recalled someone — dark-haired, like Gerry, but with gray eyes — had scratches, though worse than these, and they were worried about telling someone. What was it they had used? It had worked. But what was it? The back of his neck ached and he kneaded it anxiously. Another dark-haired boy — _James, _the one that he knew was dead—had been there, saying something about…

"Murtlap. Murtlap… essence."

Gerry blinked. "Murtlap? Are you sure?"

He nodded. Now that he had said it, he knew it was the right thing.

"Wait here then."

Lupin settled back on the thin straw-stuffed mattress. He felt the centaur's eyes on him from across the aisle.

"Wolf," the centaur said quietly.

"Horse," he shot back, without quite knowing why.

The centaur smiled, which seemed wrong, somehow, as if he didn't usually smile. "At least they didn't take that away from you," the centaur said inexplicably. Then they heard Gerry returning, and the centaur backed away from the bars.

**Friday, ****21 June—8:05 p.m.**

Alastor Moody knocked on the door, but stood slightly to the side as he did. The magical eye focused on the windows overlooking the front garden, searching for the movement of curtains. There was the sound of a lock turning, and the Auror turned his attention to the door instead.

"Moody!"

"Alatza."

"Is there news?"

"Do you mind if I come in first?" Moody asked pointedly.

"Of course, please." The man stood aside to allow the Auror to enter. The vestibule was tall, with a large light fixture dangling from a thick chain.

"Impressive," Moody commented, looking up at the light.

"It was imported from America, from an opera house in Boston.… Never mind that now," Pindar Alatza said, shaking his head dismissively. "Let's go into my office."

He led the way through a drawing room to the right. Moody heard the footsteps and muffled laughter of children, though he didn't see them. They were, no doubt, the children that Lupin had been hired to tutor.

Pocket doors at the back of the drawing room slid open to reveal Alatza's office. Maps of the world and at least six individual countries were mounted on the wall, and the mahogany desk was designed to inspire awe, and to point out that the master of this office was wealthy, powerful, and not afraid to use either money or prestige to get his way.

"Please, sit down." Alatza motioned to a chair and went to a small side table. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Why not?" Moody shrugged. "I'm not officially on duty right now."

Alatza poured the wine and both he and Alastor drank deeply from their goblets before the merchant sat down and asked again, "Is there news?"

Moody straightened and took a deep breath. "There is, but it's all bad."

"Lupin's not —" The man cut his own sentence off, but looked at Moody with dread.

"No, he's not dead," Moody stated. "At least, not that I know of."

"Then, do you know where he is?"

"No."

Pindar's frustration was evident in the way he shifted in his chair. "Then what news do you have?"

"I think I've found one of the men who kidnapped Lupin."

Alatza leaned forward. "Who is he?"

"A man by the name of James Winning. Does that name sound familiar to you?"

"It does somewhat. Where —?"

"He used to work in one of your warehouses. He was fired last year for stealing."

Pindar Alatza sat back, rubbing his moustache with his forefinger. "Now that you mention it, I do remember the incident."

"You remember it?"

"Mr. Moody, I take care of my employees. I give them the best wages I can. It makes them loyal and less likely to steal. It's rare for us to have a thief. I remember Winning — or at least the circumstances surrounding his firing." Alatza shook his head. "He admitted to it. There was nothing to do but fire him."

"Well, he apparently held a grudge over it, because he got paid twenty-five Galleons to help kidnap your tutor."

"Who paid him?"

"That is something I'm still trying to piece together, but everything so far is pointing straight to Carmichael."

"Have you questioned the bastard yet?"

Alastor shook his head, clenching his teeth together to keep from muttering the curse that was on the tip of his tongue. "He's left the country. He left by a Ministry-approved Portkey on June seventh, supposedly to track a rogue werewolf in Czechoslovakia. When I asked their Ministry officials to find him, though, they couldn't. They think he went over the border into Poland."

Alatza digested this all in silence, and sipped at his wine. "How do you know Winning was involved?"

"He was seen in the Leaky Cauldron with an unusual amount of Galleons on him and an even more unusual story about capturing a werewolf that had savaged someone in Reading. Now, there hasn't been a report of anyone getting hurt by a werewolf in Reading in years. I went down there and waited until he was pretty deep in his cups, then asked him about it. He finally admitted that he had helped steal something from your estate, and that's where he really got the money."

Moody held up a hand to forestall the comments that he knew were going to come after Alatza's initial wordless exclamation. "He didn't say you specifically, or mention your estate by name. He had a long, involved story about being wrongly fired, and he was all too happy to get back at his former employer. He was hired specifically because he told them he knew the layout of your estate."

"He's never been there — that I know of," the merchant protested.

"No, he hadn't, up until then. He lied to them, and they didn't find out until it was too late to do anything about it. I told him he was lucky he got paid at all. He said the money was to keep him quiet about where he got the money and what they stole. Frankly, I'm surprised they let him live at all."

"Did you ask him what they took?"

Moody snorted derisively. "Of course I did. He said it was something only valuable to you," he paused for dramatic effect, "and to your children."

Alatza cursed slowly and steadily for a good minute, and the Auror let him do it without interruption. The man wasn't saying anything that Alastor hadn't said in the past two weeks.

"Did he tell you who hired him? Or who else was involved?"

"No. And I didn't push him too much yet. I want to wait until I know exactly where Carmichael is. If I show my hand too soon, Carmichael will catch wind of it and disappear. No, I need to know exactly where he is and have all the evidence I can get before go after him."

"Did he say where they took Lupin?"

Moody sighed. "No. But I'm not sure he knows exactly. He just said it was somewhere out in the country. Thing that bothers me is he said that whatever they stole had already been _bought_ by someone."

"How can someone _buy_ a werewolf? Why would they want to?"

For the first time in their short working relationship, Pindar Alatza saw Moody look visibly upset. "The Darkest wizards have been known to use werewolf blood, fur, and other — parts — in potions and things. Werewolf blood and fur is heavily regulated by the Ministry for research purposes only, so the black market is the place to get those things."

"So you're suggesting Remus was _purchased_ so they could sell him off in _pieces_?" the merchant was shocked, and his voice thundered through the room.

"It's something we have to consider," Moody affirmed.

The merchant rose and strode to the window, where he stood, hands in his pockets. Moody was silent.

"I told you I'd offer a reward," Alatza said.

"Yes. I've made that clear to all the Aurors."

"Double it."

Moody quickly swallowed the rest of his wine. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe it might be enough to get the attention of one of the bastards who sold him. Go back to that — _idiot_, Winning," Alatza spat. "Maybe he'll give in to the thought of more gold and open up."

The Auror rubbed his thumb along the initials etched in the goblet. "I think you should wait on this."

Alatza spun around. "Why? Every day is another day closer to the full moon. They may decide they don't need him beyond that. After they've gotten everything they can from him, that is."

"But too much attention _now_ might make them want to get rid of him sooner," Moody pointed out.

The merchant took a deep breath, then shook his head. "No. Speaking as a business owner, I think I'd wait until after the full moon. If I've already paid for a werewolf, and expected to recover the costs of it, I'd have to wait for the transformation and get as much as I can."

Moody's eyes narrowed, and then he finally smiled mirthlessly. "I hope whoever is on the other side of this thinks like you, then."

"Me too," Alatza admitted.

**11:****24 p.m.**

Gerald Bentley stood, cigar in hand, staring at the werewolf sleeping soundly in his cage.

"Last visitor just left," Parsons said, coming up next to him.

Bentley grunted in acknowledgement.

"Last group in said they hadn't been here before, but had heard about him." The American raised his chin in the werewolf's direction. "And it's only been a little over two weeks since we got him. If that's any indication, our profit margins are going to rise in no time."

Again, Bentley made a noise of assent, but then added thoughtfully, "Bill, are you sure it's necessary to drug him?"

The other man sighed. "Let's not go over this again —"

"When you drug the others, it's not as obvious. They're still on their feet. This one…" Bentley let the sentence trail off.

"Ger, he's going to keep trying to escape. He's not going to let a few beatings stop him. We both know that. He's trouble, and this is the only way to control him."

"Can you lessen the amount you give him?" Gerald asked. "So he isn't sleeping when the people come around? A sleeping werewolf isn't going to help the profit margins. They want to see him moving or — something."

"They want to see him transformed, is what they want," Bill pointed out. "If it really bothers you that much, I'll start cutting back on the Torpeus Draught, but I'm going to wait until after the full moon. Maybe a month of it will be enough to get it through his head that he's stuck here —"

"And maybe he'll be more likely to cooperate," Bentley mused.

"Exactly." Bill shook his head. "You know this would have been so much easier if that damn Carmichael had just gotten us a stupid werewolf."

"Yes, well, this is the one he brought us," the other man said. "And we'll have to deal with him at least until we get our money's worth out of him."

"Speaking of getting our money's worth," Bill said with a gleam in his eye, "I've got an idea that I wanted to talk to you about—"

16


	10. Chapter 9: Clabbert and Consciousness

A/N: You should all know by now: Zarathustra and SortingHat47 helped me with all those pesky little things like punctuation (I LOVE commas) and grammar.

Disclaimer: Not JKR. Remus would have ended up alive otherwise. I mean, honestly. Who allows Sybill Trelawney to live and takes away REMUS? It defies thought AND description.

**Chapter ****9: Clabbert and Consciousness**

**Tuesday, ****2 July, 1985—6:37 a.m.**

Lupin paced back and forth, to and fro, tirelessly. Libertas watched him, and thought that even without the "Werewolf" placard right outside the cage, there would be no mistaking the lupine bearing. The light beard that had sprouted over the past couple of weeks was shaggier today.

"Wolf."

"Horse," was snarled in return. The pacing didn't cease.

"The full moon is today."

The man gave him a piercing stare, and then continued his pacing.

The blue eyes were clearer today than they'd been for two weeks. But did he understand what Libertas meant? The centaur wasn't sure. Did the werewolf realize that in a matter of hours, he was going to go through the excruciating transformation that would make him a beast instead of a man?

Gerry arrived only moments later with a plate full of meat, which Lupin attacked with a voracious appetite. Then Libertas heard the young man say, "Bill's coming to see you."

The werewolf went completely still then tilted his head. "I haven't done anything."

"No, you haven't. He's going to take you out of here for a bit."

Lupin gave Gerry the empty plate as well as a suspicious glance. "Where is he taking me?"

"Someplace safe — safer. It's all right. Don't worry."

"Why?"

Gerry shuffled his feet and started fumbling in his pockets for the key to the werewolf's cage. "He'll explain everything to you." He nodded to the glass of water he'd brought. "Don't forget to drink your water."

"Not thirsty."

"Better drink it anyhow, or Bill will be angry."

Libertas saw the sullen look on the werewolf's face as he sipped at the water.

"It doesn't taste right," Lupin said.

Gerry looked uneasy at this pronouncement. "It tastes as it does every day. Now, come on and drink up."

But Libertas knew what was happening. The moon was too strong in the werewolf now. The drug would never be able to touch Lupin at this point. And Lupin's awareness was rising.

The werewolf's eyes narrowed, and suddenly he turned the glass upside down, letting the water splash over the floor of his cell and his feet. "I'm not drinking that. It's not — _right._"

Gerry fled. There was no other word to describe it.

Libertas watched Lupin resume his pacing. "Lupin."

The werewolf shot him a glare.

"Do you understand what is happening to you?"

"I should." The werewolf's whisper was almost lost in the air between their two cells.

Suddenly he threw himself at the door of his cage, crashing against it with his shoulder. Two more times he charged at the bars. Then he sank onto the floor of the cage, where he gingerly touched a welt that had risen at the touch of flesh against silver.

The man's desperation was palpable, and Libertas could empathize with it, but could do nothing about it. "Lupin, the water…."

"I'm not drinking the water," the werewolf snapped.

"Sometimes it is better to stay hidden in the shadows than to have everything revealed by the sun," Libertas said.

The werewolf laughed bitterly. "And that is supposed to mean something to me?"

"You can do nothing against them. Drinking the water — helps."

Lupin lay back on the ground and rubbed his face with his hands. "It's all so — unclear. How can I remember things, but — not? It's as if I've been asleep, or sleepwalking, or—"

"The full moon rises soon."

The man groaned and rolled over onto his side so he was facing the centaur. Full comprehension was growing quickly. "So I've — it's been a — a month."

"Yes."

"Shit."

A tad vulgar, perhaps, but it summarized the situation well, Libertas thought.

"The water. I've been drinking the damned water." And suddenly the werewolf shuddered. "I remember he…. Oh Merlin, I remember."

Libertas waited.

"I've got to get out of here," Lupin whispered. "He's killing my mind."

He got to his feet, and padded, barefooted, to the door. He stayed several inches away from it, but he stared at the lock intently, as if that was all that required to make the thing melt away.

Suddenly he looked up, staring towards the front entrance. Libertas heard the footsteps a moment later.

Lupin turned his gaze on the centaur, terror evident in the bright blue eyes. "I don't want to forget again."

What could Libertas do? He couldn't help the man. He couldn't stop what was going to happen next. He couldn't stop Parsons from killing Lupin's mind or body. He couldn't even stop what Parsons was doing to _him_. "You will remember again," he said to Lupin.

And then he turned his back on the werewolf, and the men who were coming for him.

Lupin fought them. He fought harder and longer than Libertas would have thought possible. Perhaps Lupin gave himself over to the wolf. In the end, however, the result was what Libertas would have predicted. What Lupin himself would have predicted, the centaur thought.

He watched them drag the werewolf, torn and bloody from the cage, and drop him in the center of the aisle.

"Think he'll ever learn, Bertie?" Bill Parsons asked, seeing the centaur was watching.

Libertas raised his chin. "He has learned. The lesson, however, is not one of your teaching."

Bill looked as though he wanted to say something angry in reply, but was distracted by a groan from Lupin. The werewolf had placed his palms on the floor and was trying to push himself up.

"Let's go, boys. Moon rises early today."

Jack and Wally each hooked an arm under the werewolf's armpits and hoisted him up. Lupin inhaled sharply.

"You should be thankful, wolf! I'm going to make you a movie star!" Bill laughed.

**4****:45 p.m.**

Lupin paced back and forth, to and fro. He limped as he moved, but something beyond the brick walls and iron bars that formed this new cage propelled him, urged him to keep going.

He could feel the moon singing to him. He groaned as it heated his blood and sharpened his senses. As always, it made him want things he'd never known: the thrill of the chase, the hunt, the kill, the blood….

He shuddered. It wouldn't be long now. He'd fought it long enough. Even though the sun was still hours from setting, the full moon had already risen, and was waiting for him to acknowledge her… to allow her to have her way with him….

He collapsed into the corner, rubbing his bruised thigh. The imprint of Wally's boot was fairly clear.

He winced as a surge of something powerful and demanding went over him, through him.… No. He wasn't going to fight it any longer. He sighed in submission. Let the wolf deal with the moon….

**9:45 p.m.**

The wolf paced back and forth, to and fro — tirelessly. He occasionally cast glances over his shoulder at the bright lights that had come to life as the evening had gone on.

Every once in a while, prey would appear, just on the other side of the bars, and he would charge at it.

There were three different victims. He could smell the differences between them. The fatter one, the one who was covered in fear-inspired sweat, screamed when the wolf charged at him. It was a satisfactory response, but not nearly as satisfactory as it would have been had the wolf been able to bury his teeth into the sweat-drenched flesh, and rip it from the bones, and lap at the blood….

The wolf howled, frustrated and angry. He needed to eat. He needed to feast. He needed to chew, to gnaw at bones that would snap like twigs between his powerful jaws.… He needed hot blood spurting from torn arteries….

No prey seemed to be forthcoming. But, there was something inside the wolf, something that seemed like prey, something that spoke of something… _human_. And so the wolf, needing to assuage his aggravation and moon-borne madness, turned on himself….

**Wednesday, 3 July****—10:02 a.m.**

"Well, you've done a job on yourself, haven't you?"

He hated that voice. Hated that casual American drawl that grated on his sensitive British werewolf ears.

"I've got healing potions for you. You gonna sit up on your own and take them? Or do I have to come down there and stuff them down your throat?"

Remus couldn't have moved if he wanted to. He had the horrible feeling that if he moved his right arm away where it was fixed at his side, his organs would slide right out of the hole that was there.

Bill, however, either didn't realize it or didn't care, for he bent down and wrenched Remus' arm away. "Hell!" he exclaimed. "That's going to take a little more fixing than I thought. Stay there."

_Where would I go? And how could I get there? _

It was easier to just close his eyes and forget about it all instead of trying to figure out the answers to those two questions.

It might have been minutes; it might have been hours. He didn't know. All he knew was that he suddenly became aware of gentle fingers probing his bloody side, and it hurt.

"I know, I know it hurts," said a woman's voice.

He slowly opened his eyes. The woman was kneeling next to him. She was a small woman, slightly overweight, with dark hair and too much makeup, but her fingers were nimble as she worked. She squeezed some kind of paste from a tube into a bowl, and then added some kind of a liquid from a bottle. She mixed the substances together with her wand, and then added some powder from a little tin not far from his extended left hand.

She was so engrossed in her work that, for a moment or two, she didn't realize he was watching her. "Awake, are we?" she asked gently, with a smile. It made her face brighten, and her light blue eyes sparkled with good cheer.

Still, he didn't know whether it was safe to smile at her or not, so he didn't.

"I'm going to try to heal this, but I've never had to heal anything this deep before. It might not work," she told him. She scraped the mixture off of the tip of her wand and then pointed the wand at the hole in his side. She muttered something that sounded vaguely familiar to him, and he felt the warmth in his side as the flesh around the wound began to respond and began to rejuvenate itself.

It was apparently not going fast enough to please her, however, for she muttered another spell. That time, something shifted, and Remus groaned.

"Sorry, ducky," she whispered.

'_Ducky'? Who calls a bloody werewolf 'ducky'?_

"Come on, Ruthie, just get him healed up already. He's already missed half a morning's work."

"Well, he's not going to be able to work the other bloody half, now, is he?" Ruthie shot back over her shoulder at the American. "Now, shut up, so I can concentrate." She saw that Remus was still looking at her, and she gave him a quick wink that Bill couldn't see.

Remus felt the left side of his mouth twitch, as if he wanted to smile in spite of himself.

"Let's try that last one again, shall we? Hold on, love." Her painted-on eyebrows met over the bridge of her nose as she concentrated and then muttered the second spell again.

There was a flare of heat this time, and Remus felt the muscles creeping closed, the skin trying to seal — and it hurt like hell. He clamped his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip. The fingers on his right hand scrabbled at the dirt floor, his left hand reached for the wound. He couldn't breathe properly, and he felt himself panicking...

Ruthie grabbed his left hand and closed his fingers over her own thick ones. He tried to pull away, but her other hand, still clutching her wand, came down on top of his hand, holding it in place.

He hated that he hurt her, for he knew he did. He squeezed with all the strength that remained within him. But finally, the pain began to ease, and he drew in a gasping breath. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Not at all," she said back, just as quietly. She let go of his hand, and reached for the bowl. "This is a little something that my grandmum used to use. It's good for anything and everything. Spots, cuts, sprains…." She slathered the cool paste on his side, and then started on his arms.

"Ruthie, leave some of them unhealed, so the visitors can see them. They'll pay good money to see what a werewolf does to itself."

"Bill Parsons!"

"I'm telling you the same thing I told Gerry: don't go getting attached to it. Its sole purpose here is to make us money."

Ruthie shifted so she could reach a particularly nasty bite on Remus' calf. "Bill, don't you have something else you should be doing?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said, his tone brightening. He pushed himself away from the wall and reached into his shirt pocket. Remus shuddered. He knew what was coming. He shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the syringe.

**1:06 p.m.**

Libertas fought the urge to doze. The drug was always at its strongest during the early afternoon, and the growing warmth in the tent made it conducive for sleep. But he had to see Lupin. He didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't as if the werewolf meant anything to him. Lupin didn't have the ability to discuss the stars, or their courses, or even intelligently discuss predictions. But.…

Lupin called him Libertas.

Yes, he also called him 'horse,' but only when the centaur called him 'wolf.' Lupin, for the most part, knew how to be respectful to a centaur. In this place, it was the only respect Libertas got.

He would respect Lupin by being awake when they brought him back.

**2:23**** p.m.**

Lupin actually walked back to his cell. The leg irons were back though, and shackles chained his wrists together. Libertas felt a quick stab of anger on Lupin's behalf, however, at the sight of the dog collar around the werewolf's neck. They hadn't needed to do that, the centaur knew: he could tell that Lupin had been drugged again. It was all for the sake of the — drama. So that the few people who were in the tent could recognize the danger inherent in having a werewolf in the Carnival… and how Bentley and Parsons were doing all they could to keep the dangerous creature under control.

They removed the wrist shackles, and the lead from the collar, and then shoved Lupin into his cage. He stumbled then fell heavily on his knees. Neither Wally nor Jack helped him up, but they didn't tease him as Libertas thought they might. Instead, they closed the door, locked it and went on their way without another word.

Libertas went to the bars. Lupin hadn't moved.

"Wolf."

It took a moment, but finally the werewolf turned his head. "Horse."

Satisfied that Lupin was alive, and going to remain so, Libertas decided to take his nap.

**Thursday, 4 July****—11:48 a.m.**

The hippogriff watched the boy enter his cage and decided he'd had enough of this. At least the other one — the taller one, with blue eyes — tried to make things interesting when he threw the dead rats and ferrets. This one would just empty the bucket on the ground and leave. While the hippogriff would eat his food off of the floor if he wanted to, he just wasn't in the mood for it today.

The dark-haired boy bowed.

The hippogriff cocked his head to one side and regarded him with a fierce eye. The boy could do better! His whole demeanour said, 'I'm trying to hurry up and get this over with.' He wasn't showing proper respect at all!

The boy straightened, sighed heavily then bent again, muttering something about a "dumb bird."

The insolence! The hippogriff shrieked with rage, and reared. His front talons came down, just as the boy looked up in horror….

Lupin heard the hippogriff's cry, and then heard Gerry scream. He bolted from the nogtail's cage and ran as quickly as he could to the hippogriff's cage. Gerry was lying on the ground, blood covering his face and drenching his shirt. The hippogriff was poking at him with a taloned foot.

Swallowing hard, Lupin bowed. The hippogriff, catching the movement, tilted its head one way, then the other. Then slowly, it lowered its head in response to Lupin's obeisance.

Quickly, Lupin grabbed Gerry by the shoulders and dragged him out of the cage.

The hippogriff chirruped with confusion, and stepped towards the open door. Where were the rats? Where were the ferrets?

Lupin grabbed a rat that had fallen out of the bucket and flung it at the hippogriff. While the beast crunched it to bits, the werewolf leaned over Gerry. The boy was conscious, but just barely so. A razor-straight scratch sliced its way down his face, starting at his forehead, ending at his chin, just barely skipping over the eye socket.

Gerry's torso had received the full brunt of hippogriff anger: both forefeet had raked the boy from shoulder to belly, and blood was pumping from the wounds at a rate that even Lupin, in his somewhat fogged condition, could see might be fatal.

What was he to do? He glanced around, and as was often the case, no one else could be seen.

He threw another rat at the hippogriff, slammed the door shut, and went running towards the front of the tent. Someone had to be there — they _had_ to.…

Wally saw Lupin come out of the tent, then pause and look around. "Ah, bleedin' hell. He's trying to escape again," he muttered, getting to his feet.

Jack looked up. "What?"

"Bloody werewolf."

They both started to run towards the tent, but Bill got there first. He had his wand lowered at Lupin, who was pointing back inside, and saying something about Gerry and the hippogriff.

It only took a second for his words to sink in, and the men ran inside; Jack made sure to grab Lupin by the arm and drag him along, too.

**Monday, 8 July****—6:50 p.m.**

It was to be a long, slow recovery process for Gerry. Muscles had been torn that would require rest and a lot of patient coaxing back to any kind of normality.

As a result, Wally was recruited to fill Gerry's duties of both helping and directing Lupin in feeding the creatures in the Carnival. The man was not happy at being paired with the werewolf, and was even more unhappy that he was made to play "nursemaid and cook" for the creatures. Lupin soon learned that an unhappy Wally was a dangerous Wally.

For two days, Wally criticized and cursed Lupin for being too slow. It frustrated the werewolf beyond measure. He knew he wasn't this slow naturally, but the fog that Bill forced on him kept him from thinking beyond whatever simple task he was doing at that moment, which made him appear stupid. And when Wally thought Lupin was being exceptionally stupid, he made the werewolf cognizant of it with a slap, a punch, or a kick. By the end of the second day, Lupin realized that Wally-inflicted marks outnumbered the ones left by his transformation at the full moon.

He tried to pour his water out on the third morning, but Wally caught him at it. Bill was summoned, and after the threat of dire consequences, Lupin found himself pinned to the floor and, once again, pierced with a hypodermic needle.

After that, he could do nothing to please Wally. The man even began to throw the food into bowls for the animals before Lupin could point out what was right and what wasn't.

"Straighten it out as you go," Wally snapped at him on the fourth morning following Gerry's accident, when Lupin dared to suggest that Wally was getting mixed up on what the animals were supposed to eat.

Lupin took the plate of kippers that Wally was pushing at him and went to feed the grindylow.

When he was on his way back to the food storage area, Wally was coming out of the Clabbert's cage, an empty plate in his hand. Lupin felt the first stirrings of alarm. He hadn't seen Wally chopping up any of the chicken that the Clabbert needed.

Confused, Lupin touched the carnival worker on the arm to get his attention.

"Did you give him chicken?"

"Chicken? No! Gave kippers to him, didn't I?"

"He's not supposed to have kippers," Lupin told him, feeling annoyed, which was rare in his drug-induced state.

"He's eating 'em, isn't he?"

Lupin peered in at the Clabbert, who grinned at him, revealing its pointy teeth. Well, it was too late to get the fish from the animal; he'd have to try to work faster or push harder to get Wally to listen. Maybe if he talked to Bill…. No. He wasn't going to talk to Bill. He'd have to get through to Wally on his own. Somehow.

He just hoped the kippers wouldn't disagree with the Clabbert. He had a bad feeling that if something happened to the monkey-like animal, Wally, and subsequently Bill, would somehow blame him for it.

**Tuesday, 9 July****—1:03 a.m.**

Lupin awoke, ripped from his light slumber by a sound that wasn't — usual. But, what was it?

That thump was the sound of a hoof — either the nogtail or the hippogriff. The soft but mad muttering was the jarvey. The whistling was part of the erumpent's soft snore….

There. A whimper. A sad, pleading sound….

Lupin sat up, concentrating more fully. Yes, another noise of pain, and it sounded as if it were the Clabbert.

He cursed and went to the bars, glancing between them. All was dark, and no carnival workers were anywhere to be seen. The Clabbert cried out again, a little louder.

Lupin paced the width of his cell, thinking as quickly as his drug-laden and sleep-deprived brain would allow. How could he get to the Clabbert and help it? Should he just start yelling for someone, anyone to come? He didn't really want to disturb the other animals — he just needed help for the one.

_Think. Think. What do I do? If only the door was open. If I could only get that door to open…__. How do I get it open?_

He stared at the door, hating it, despising its silver-barred solidity. The Clabbert whined again.

Without thinking, Lupin suddenly slammed his fists against the bars of the door, his mind concentrated on one thought: "_Let me _OUT!"

The door popped open.

Lupin blinked.

Yes, the door was open, but was slowly swinging closed again….

He pressed his denim-clad leg against the door, bringing it to a stop, then without stopping to consider the consequences, he slithered through the gap, and went to get the keys for the Clabbert's cage.

Keys to the cages were kept in a chest in the storage room. But how to see which key he needed? It was too dark to see clearly, and he didn't want to risk turning on any lights: the carnival workers would be more likely to Stun first, and ask questions later, and that certainly wouldn't help the Clabbert.

He stood helplessly in front of the chest, staring at the collection of keys, when suddenly a memory came to him: he was sitting on the floor, in front of a small child — a little boy, almost a baby, really — and the child was giggling at colorful balls of fire that Lupin was producing in his hands….

_I did that. I remember. I did that__ — for Harry._

Could he do it now, though?

There had to be a spell, an incantation, right? At the very least there had to be concentration of his thoughts… He closed his eyes — thought about it — tried to remember — then held out his hand — and saw the fire form in his mind…

He slowly opened one eye, and saw blue flames dancing harmlessly in his palm.

_James would have patted me on the back and said "Good show, old man!" Peter would have stared at me __as if he couldn't believe I just did that. And Sirius would have…_

_Don't think about Sirius… _

_Wa__it. I remembered. I remembered them. All of them. Is the drug wearing off?_

He'd think about this all later. Right now, he had to help the stricken Clabbert.

Remus soon found the animal lying huddled in a tight, green ball in the back of its cage. It whimpered when it saw him, but there was no disguising the look that it gave him: hope that he could help it feel better.

Its soft, fur-covered stomach was tender to the touch, and it snapped at him with its sharp teeth. He spoke soothingly to it, and stroked its back until it began to relax again. There had to be something more he could do.

He knew there was. He knew that somewhere in his mind, there was an answer to this problem: he just had to push a little further through the fog. He closed his eyes and thought about his father….

_Th__ere was that Kneazle. It had gotten into poison, and Dad used — it was a powder…. The tin was red. What was on the tin? Damn it, think…. Began with an L…._

And then it came to him: lobelia. In powdered form, it could be used as an emetic, and maybe it could help the Clabbert. If it wasn't too strong for the kneazle, it surely wouldn't be too harsh for the Clabbert….

The next half-hour went quickly. Remus went to the storage room and sorted through boxes and tins and bottles of every size and description until finally he found a small round tin of lobelia. He quickly mixed a few pinches of it into some water and made the Clabbert drink it. The poor little thing shuddered and shook for several minutes before finally spewing the remaining contents of its stomach all over the floor.

Remus stroked the Clabbert's head. "I'm going to get something to clean this up," he said. "I'll be right back."

But the Clabbert whined when he tried to leave, and its high-pitched squeal was disturbing the jarvey, making it curse loudly. And if the jarvey got any louder, the other animals would start getting restless….

"Shit," Remus whispered. What was he supposed to do _now_? If Bill showed up because of a disturbance, and found Remus anywhere but in his own cage….

"Come on." Remus scooped the monkey-like animal up and carried it back to his own cage. Merlin only knew _what_ he was going to tell Bill in the morning about any of this. And he knew he'd have to explain it to Bill at some point.

He fell asleep worrying about it, curled around the smallish, green animal that wouldn't let go of his T-shirt.

Across the aisle, Libertas watched and wondered how long it would be until Lupin realized that he had managed to perform magic without a wand — and that he had had the perfect opportunity to escape — _and hadn't taken it_.

**6:44 a.m.**

"What's this, then?" Wally demanded loudly.

Remus' eyes shot open. He had every intention of putting his hands down and shoving himself up to a sitting position, but a small, furry body got in his way.

"What are you doing with that thing in there with you?" Wally asked.

"He was sick."

"But how'd he get in there with you?"

"It's — a long story."

"I'm getting Bill," Wally warned him, already walking away.

"I knew you would," Remus sighed.

Bill stared at him in obvious disbelief, his eyes narrowed. "The door was unlocked?"

"It opened," Remus repeated. "I assume it was unlocked. I don't know how I would have gotten out of it otherwise."

Bill turned to Wally for the third time and asked, "Are you _sure_ you locked that door?"

And for the third time, Wally repeated, "Yes, I did! I know better than to leave a werewolf unsecured. Especially that one," he added under his breath.

Bill knelt down to inspect the lock.

The Clabbert wrapped its arms around Remus' neck and snuggled closer.

"Wally, you and the wolf start feeding the creatures," Bill ordered, his attention focused on the lock.

Remus waited for Wally to leave the cell first, then followed, making sure he stayed as far away from Bill as he could as he went past.

"Wally!" Bill suddenly snapped.

"Yeah?"

The carnival owner glanced back at Remus. "You told him not to feed that thing fish, right?"

Remus nodded.

Bill nodded then said, "Wally, you let Lupin take care of things. Just — keep an eye on him."

Wally started, "But —"

Bill looked at him sharply. "He knows what he's doing."

"What about his water?" Wally asked in a little softer tone. "And the Torpeus Draught?"

Bill fiddled with the lock for a moment before answering. "Leave his water clean. I need him clear-headed to deal with the animals."

**2:53 p.m.**

Jack and another carnival worker whom Remus had seen, but didn't really know, showed up at his cage with a handcart full of equipment, including a Muggle television set.

He watched as they mounted the television set on a solid platform fastened to the bars of his cage, right at what might be eye level for a typical teenager.

Jack gave Remus a broad grin as they began hooking the electrical wire from the TV to the electrical boxes that ran the length of the tent, powering the long fluorescent lights. "Bill's going to make you a star, Wolf," he said.

"How?" Remus asked, dreading the answer.

"Just wait. You'll see."

About an hour later, Bill and Jack stood outside Remus' cage, looking at the television, obviously waiting for something to happen. There was a click, then the sound of static… Suddenly, Bill whooped. "There it is!"

Jack motioned to Remus. "You should let him watch. I'll bet he's never seen it."

Bill laughed. "You're right! Come here, Lupin. You've got to see this!"

"This" was something that Remus would never have expected, even though Bill had implied it more than once. "This" was a video of Remus transforming — and the wolf tearing himself to shreds. It had been cut and spliced to show the most dramatic parts of the transformation and of the night following; it was designed to shock and horrify and prove beyond all shadow of a doubt that werewolves were dangerous.

Remus could barely keep himself from throwing up. No, he had never seen himself transforming like this; he had never wanted to. And as far as the wolf was concerned, the Marauders had told him many times what he looked like, and he had no reason to doubt them. And he did _not_ want to watch himself chewing himself to pieces.

He took a step backwards, preparing to go around Jack and back into his cage, but Bill caught him by the arm. "What's wrong, Wolf?"

The werewolf's blue eyes were bright with anger. "You had no right."

Bill's eyebrows rose. "I had no right?"

"No," Remus snapped. "You had no right to take something so, so _personal_, and put it on display like this."

"Oh, no," Bill said quietly. "You're wrong. I had every right. I _own _you, Wolf. You belong to _me_. And if I want to invite people in at every full moon to watch you go through this, I can. And there's not a damned thing you can do about it."

Remus hated the tape. He hated the wolf that howled, snarled, and whimpered all through it. He hated knowing it was his screams during the transformations into and out of the wolf form. And he hated the people who came by, watched the tape, and then looked at him and said, "You'd never know just by looking at him, would you?" And he hated that the tape was designed to play over and over….

Libertas said nothing, but Remus knew that the centaur was as annoyed by the tape as he was. He stomped and flicked his tail every time the transformation happened, and stayed in the back of his cage, as if trying to get as far away from the snarls as he could. And the only respite they got was at night, when someone would come back and turn the television set off. Both werewolf and centaur would breathe deep sighs of relief, and then attempt to sleep. Just remembering the howls and screams kept them both on edge and anxious, however, and prevented them from resting well.

Remus wasn't sure which of them was going to go mad first.

**Thursday, 11 July****—2:43 p.m.**

Remus paced anxiously, his hand massaging the back of his neck. It was coming up to his least favourite part on the tape, when the wolf ripped its side open, and then fell to the ground with a cry that was almost human. Immediately following that, the tape was cut to show the transformation of wolf back to man. Remus cringed to think of it.

Libertas shifted almost nervously in his cell. "Wolf, is there nothing you can do about —it?"

"Don't you think I'd have done something about it already if I could?" Remus snapped.

"I thought maybe you had forgotten something…."

There was the cry from the tape, and Remus shuddered. Without thinking about it, he threw one hand in the direction of the television set, and snarled, "Silencio!"

The thing instantly went quiet.

Libertas and Remus exchanged looks.

"Is it still playing?" Remus asked after a moment, his voice shaky.

Libertas nodded.

The werewolf sat down heavily on the floor. "I silenced it."

"You did," Libertas agreed.

Horror began to rise in the bright blue eyes. "Bill will find out. And he'll bloody _kill_ me!"

"Can you reverse it?" The centaur asked.

"I don't know if —"

"Try."

Remus pointed a trembling finger at the television and muttered, "_Finite incantatem_."

Instantly, the sound of the tape could be heard again.

Tentatively, Remus whispered, "_Silencio_."

Again, the howls were muted.

"I did it," Remus said, in a tone full of wonder. "Without a wand. I did it."

James would have been jumping up and down, yelling that it was brilliant. Peter would have probably fainted. Sirius would have screamed something like "I knew you could do it, Moony!" and….

_Don't think of Sirius._

Suddenly, Remus wondered: if he could do this, what else could he do without a wand? He settled back on his straw-stuffed mattress to consider it, and how he could use this all to his advantage….

**Thursday, ****18 July—4:02 p.m.**

Moody got off the lift and headed for his cubicle. He could see Pindar Alatza standing near his desk.

"Alatza," he said, nodding in greeting.

"Mr Moody." The man looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

Moody's heart sank into his stomach. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. He had been expecting it. Didn't make it any better, though.

"This way," he said, motioning on down the hallway, and then into a small interview room that was hardly bigger than a broom closet.

The two men sat down on opposite sides of a small table. Alatza leaned both forearms on the table and laid his hands flat.

"Has there been any more progress?"

The Auror sighed. Right to the heart of the matter. "No. I tried to talk to Winning one more time, but he got suspicious. I went back last week, and he was gone. No one knows where he's gone."

"Did you get anything else out of him?"

"No." Moody cursed. "I didn't get the chance to offer him any more money, either, before he disappeared."

Alatza sat back in the chair. "So, that's it, then. There's no way you'll be able to track Lupin down."

"There were other men there besides Winning and Carmichael. They're still out there somewhere. I just have to find them."

Alatza paused then asked, "Do you think he's dead?"

Moody shook his head. "I can't let myself think he is."

"How long will you keep looking for him?"

"Until I find him," the Auror said quietly but firmly.

The merchant nodded, and then squirmed as if he were a Hogwarts fourth-year just caught in the Prefects' bathroom. "I want to believe he's still alive."

"You don't think he is?" Moody asked.

"I don't know. The problem is, Mr Moody, is that, well…."

"You didn't think it would take so long to find him."

"No, I didn't." The man squared his shoulders. "It's been a month and a half, and it seems as if we're no closer to finding him now than what we were."

Moody just barely refrained from saying that sometimes these things took _several_ months.

"I'm not giving up on the reward. I will still honour the reward that I offered," Alatza said. "But, Mr Moody, my children need a tutor."

_Damn it, there goes the boy's job._ "I understand, Alatza. You need to get on with your lives."

"Don't condemn me, Moody, for doing what's best for my children."

"I'm not," the Auror said. "I said that I understand." He stood up. "I'll let you know if there's any news — if you have to provide any of that reward money, that is."

"There is one thing, before I go —"

"Yes?"

Alatza wouldn't look him in the eye. "His clothes and books … Who… What should I do with them? Is there someone…?"

"I'll be by tomorrow night to pick them up."

The merchant nodded then stood up. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about this."

"I can tell you that Remus will be even more sorry about it," Moody said, not even attempting to soften his tone. He walked out of the room before Alatza, not bothering to see if the man found his way out.

**Okay, I'm groveling for a review. Just a tiny one. Please?**


	11. Chapter 10:Blue Moon

A/N: Say it with me: Thanks to Zarathustra and SortingHat47... But even more than that, thanks to you lovely, wonderful people who have reviewed. You have no idea how happy you made me!

Disclaimer: Remus isn't mine. Gosh, I wish he were. But he belongs (technically) to JKRowling. However unpleasant the thought is, Bill Parsons is mine. But so is Libertas! So it all balances out, I suppose...

**Chapter ****10: Blue Moon**

**Wednesday, ****31 July, 1985—9:30 p.m.**

Remus had been in many embarrassing and frustrating positions in his life, but this one was without a doubt one of worst he could think of.

He was on his hands and knees, chained by his ankles and wrists to large metal eyehooks in the floor. The dog collar around his neck, while not very tight, had another chain hooked to it, running through an eyehook suspended from the ceiling, and then fastened onto another hook on the wall behind him.

It wasn't comfortable. Wasn't even close to comfortable. His knees ached and he shivered from the cool, damp atmosphere of the stone room. Blood from his struggles to free himself trickled down his wrists and streamed across his hands.

"Damn them. I'll kill them. Damn them," he muttered in a litany of hate and anger.

His blood surged painfully with the pull of the moon, and he found himself crouching until his naked chest scraped the floor. The shock of it made him suck in his breath and arch his back until he was again on his hands and knees.

"Fuck you, Parsons!" he yelled. "Fuck you, you bloody son of a bitch!"

He knew the man heard. He knew Bill Parsons was there — just on the other side of the bars, just outside the stone walls. He knew Parsons was there — and had plans. He just didn't know what the plans were.

He told them he couldn't transform with these things around his ankles and wrists. They didn't seem to care. He told them he'd chew his fucking paws off and then start after them, but they just smiled, tightened the chains, and went on.

The moon called him.

He growled and tried to sit up, but the chains around his wrists wouldn't give up their hold.

He could feel the wolf taking over. He could feel the wolf's anger eclipsing his own. The wolf's anger was hotter, more brutal… What the hell. The wolf could have them. He hoped the wolf dealt with them like they deserved….

**1****1:57 p.m.**

All three men stepped back and away from the werewolf with deep sighs of relief.

"What's in each one of those jars is worth twenty Galleons, boys," Bill said, with a self-satisfied smirk. "We've done a good night's work."

"What do your sort — wizards, I mean — do with werewolf blood anyhow?" Jack asked, peering closely at the dark red liquid in one of the aforementioned jars.

"It can be used in potions and spells. They're usually pretty nasty," Parson replied, nudging the unconscious creature with his boot. "Dark magic requires Dark ingredients."

"Is it the same thing for the fur, too? They use it for potions and things?"

Parsons nodded. "Yeah." He placed the straight razor in a box along with the four jars of blood, and motioned to the bag of coarse grey hair he had shaved from the unconscious werewolf. "Wally, grab that, would you?"

Jack picked up the axe handle that Bill had used to subdue the werewolf when it became obvious that the werewolf could fight off spells too quickly for them to get what they needed from it. "How much is the fur worth, then, if the blood is twenty Galleons per jar?"

"A small bag might be worth three or four Galleons. A large bag might get us six or seven," the American answered, taking one last look at the creature.

"What'll we do with him, now?" Wally asked, with a quick gesture at the werewolf.

Bill let his eyes travel over the bloody slashes across the shorn coat left by the razor. None of them were bleeding enough to cause any serious problem. The broken ribs and the bloody, swollen gash near the thing's right ear were a little more serious. However, Carmichael had been right when he said that the werewolf would fight off magical restraints and Stunners quickly, so he'd have to deal physically aggressively with the creature. Since he had been right about that, Bill had to trust that the man was also right when he had said that a few broken bones and a bit of physical force wouldn't kill it either. "Leave him. We'll put him back in his cage after he turns back in the morning."

The three men finished gathering their things and left the werewolf, still chained, lying in the middle of the floor.

**Thursday, ****1 August—7:52 a.m.**

…_ithurtsithurtsithurtsit hurts it hurts. It hurts. It HURTS. IT HURTS…__ IT HURTS!!_

Pain exploded through his senses. His body had known it was there; his unconsciousness had kept it at bay. Now, as his awareness returned, so did the pain. There was precious little he could do, with no wand and no potions. He couldn't even think straight enough to try something wandlessly.

Years of waking up after terrible monthly transformations, however, did help him to come to grips with his situation. He began with the easy stuff first. Yes, he knew _who_ he was and he knew _what_ he was. He even knew _where_ he was and _how_ he had gotten here. And — _damn_ it to the furthest gates of hell and back — he even knew _why_ he was here, though that was something he couldn't stand to think about right now. So, it came to the next part: What exactly was causing the pain?

Start at the top, work your way down, was the barely coherent thought. His head hurt, and not just with the typical internal ache of no sleep, no food, and morning-after-transformation-hangover. But, as he raised his hand to touch his scalp, the fire across his shoulders and down his back demanded his attention. Forcing his eyes open, he turned his head slightly to the side. He could see six cuts blazing red against his pale, scarred skin. Another turn of his head and several rapid blinks brought four stripes into focus on his other arm and shoulder. Not even two of them were parallel, so they weren't self-inflicted. Ten so far, then, and who knew how many more there were.

"Wolf." The voice was deep, the word spoken ever so quietly.

He ignored it.

His hand continued its journey to his head and met blood-stiffened hair just above his right ear. Tentative fingers felt a gash, but not very deep, and only about an inch long. Probably concussed, though he should be thankful his skull wasn't cracked all the way open.

"Wolf. Man." The voice was insistent, though still soft.

He turned his head to the right, peering through iron bars, into the cage on the other side of the aisle. Again, he blinked quickly, trying to clearly see what he knew to be a centaur.

He would've licked his dry lips, but there was no moisture in his mouth to do that, so he rasped, "Horse." After all, the centaur was insulting, and he himself wasn't in the mood, at his moment, to be overly polite.

The centaur flicked his tail in annoyance.

The pain inventory continued. His right leg ached. As if he'd had a cramp in it all night long….

"I am to tell them when you awake," the centaur informed him.

_Not now! Not yet!_ His mind screamed the words, making the pounding in his head nearly unbearable for a moment. _Control. Pull it together_…. He lifted his hand in a halting gesture, and attempted to whisper, "Just give me a minute." He knew that not all the words were actually heard, but the meaning was obviously understood, because the centaur was silent.

He didn't want to meet them while he was still lying here, helpless. Could he sit up? He started to roll onto his side. Bone grated against bone, and he flopped back onto his back, gasping with pain, and gritting his teeth. He had dealt with broken ribs before, so it was familiar — unwelcome, but familiar.

The centaur's whisper cut through the pain. "You must escape."

He couldn't help the sharp bark of laughter that scraped from his throat. Escape? Now? He was reasonably certain he couldn't even walk. His right leg _hurt_, damn it! Definitely some kind of pulled muscle. And his ribs….

"They mean to kill you," the centaur said quietly.

Upon thinking about it later, he'd come to realize that he had already known that fact. Right at this moment, however, the centaur had revealed something to him that he hadn't wanted to realize. And there was not a thing he could do about it in the condition he was in.

And so, Remus Lupin muttered: "Fuck."

**Monday, ****5 August—3:25 p.m.**

Remus took a deep breath and again whispered the incantation in his head, while flicking his finger in the same arc he would have made with his wand.

The feather didn't move.

He huffed impatiently. If he couldn't do a simple Levitation Charm with a feather, for Merlin's sake — a bloody _first-years'_ Charm — then what did that say about his ability?

He was able to do a scant handful of spells without a wand now, he reminded himself: the _Silencio_ was the most important one he had mastered, and he supposed he should be grateful for that. At least the sound of the werewolf howling on the tape — which still ran throughout the day — didn't disturb him or Libertas any more. The people coming through the tent didn't seem to realize there should have been sound, and Remus had gotten quite adept at relinquishing the spell the moment he heard any of the carnival workers.

He was going to make that stupid feather move if it killed him. James would have encouraged him, told him to keep trying. Peter would have given up ages ago. Sirius would have become just as increasingly frustrated as Remus was now, and would have snapped, "Damn it, Moony, just _do_ it!"

"Don't think about _Sirius_!" Remus muttered angrily at himself. He aimed his forefinger at the feather, extending his pinky as well, framing the feather between his two fingers, then said the words clearly in his head: "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The feather shot off the floor. Shocked, Remus' concentration broke, and the feather began to slowly drift earthwards. _Control! _He wrapped his mind around the feather, cushioned it, then sent it tumbling end over end toward the bars of his cage.

"Impressive, wolf," Libertas said, trying to sound sarcastic, but Remus could hear the grudging respect in the centaur's voice. "Now could you explain to me how being able to levitate a feather will help you escape?"

"If I levitate enough feathers, maybe I can disguise myself as a bird and fly out of here," Remus said, with a grin. He lazily traced a pattern in the air, and the feather followed it somewhat clumsily. Control and accuracy would come, Remus knew.

He thought about the couple of other spells he knew now: _Scourgify_, _Silencio; _he had even gotten _Accio_to work once or twice. He had used one of his favourites — _Waddawasi _— against a boy who had spit his gum at Remus one evening. Bill had come in and questioned him rather sharply about it, but his ability to stare right into someone's eyes and lie through his teeth served him well.

If only he could figure out what kind of wards Bill had over the tent, and even more importantly, how to break the Anti-Apparition wards….

He settled back on his straw-filled mattress and spent the next hour trying to remember everything he'd been taught or learned about Anti-Apparition wards, while making the feather do gymnastics in the air.

**Thursday, ****8 August—10:09 a.m.**

"Lupin!"

Remus immediately left the jarvey's cage and went to see why Parsons was yelling for him.

"What do you know about winged horses?" Bill demanded.

The werewolf shrugged. "They're horses and they fly."

"That cage that the mermaid was in? Get it ready." The carnival owner looked exceptionally pleased with himself. "We got ourselves a Granian flying horse." Well, no wonder he was smirking. Flying horses were not that common — especially the sleek and fast Granians. "It's arriving any minute, so get your ass moving."

"All right." What else was Remus supposed to say?

He finished taking care of the jarvey, who muttered curses and imprecations at him. He grinned at it as he closed the cage door behind him. "Someday you'll admit you like me," he teased the creature.

Bill poked his head into the tent. "Lupin! You got that cage ready yet?"

Remus sighed. "No!"

"What in the hell are you waiting for?"

Wally was sent in to help him, and together, they laid down a thick layer of sawdust. Remus went to get some grain and a bucket of water, already making a checklist in his head of things Bill would have to do to make the space better for a horse with wings.

And suddenly Bill was right in front of him, leading a tiny dapple-grey foal with light grey wings folded tightly against its body. He held the lead rope out to Remus.

Remus stared at the colt. "Isn't it a bit — small?"

"He's six weeks old. His mama died, and now, Lupin, as far as he's concerned, _you're_ his mama." He held out a piece of paper which Remus took. "Here's what they say to feed him. He'll need to be fed more often than the other animals, so you'll have to let Wally and Jack know when you need your cage unlocked to feed him. Now, take him and get him settled in. And, so help me, if anything happens to this foal, I'll kill you."

"Promises, promises," Remus muttered as he led the colt away.

"What was that?" Bill asked sharply.

Remus stopped and glanced back at the carnival owner. "I said, I promise I'll do my best."

Bill gave him a sceptical glare, but said nothing else.

**Saturday, ****10 August—1:25 p.m.**

Remus could hear the foal squealing, but he couldn't see if it was upset because its lunch was late, or if someone was bothering it.

Across the aisle, Libertas stirred from his drug-induced nap, and blinked blearily at Remus. "What is the problem with the little one?" he asked.

"I don't know," Remus said, tension making his voice sound slightly more hoarse than usual. "I can't tell. Can't you understand what he's saying?"

Libertas gave him a withering stare. "That was beneath you, wolf."

Remus paced back and forth a few times, cringing every time the foal whinnied. "I told them to be here at one," he whispered. "Where are they?"

Finally, he heard footsteps, and he moved to stand near the doorway.

"Wolf!" hissed Libertas. "The tape!"

"Damn it!" Remus hurriedly flipped his fingers in the direction of the television and muttered, "_Finite_ _Incantatem_!" The werewolf on the screen began snarling again.

Jack reached Remus' cage a moment later, and peered over at the television. "Is the telly working alright?" he asked.

"Fine, why?" Remus asked calmly.

"I couldn't hear it."

"Can't hear much with the foal yelling for his lunch," Remus commented. He allowed his tone to become a little more accusatory. "You were supposed to be here at one."

Jack shrugged. "Had something I had to do."

"More important than that colt?" Remus asked. "Oh, that's right. It's _my_ skin if something goes wrong."

"As a matter of fact, Bill had me painting that —" Jack stopped in mid-sentence and glared at Remus. "Hey! I don't have to answer to you! And I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

Parsons was waiting by the storage room for them. "I thought I told you to take care of that horse," he began without preamble.

Remus bristled. "I told them to let me out at one. I can't help it if they're late!"

Bill turned to Jack. "I know you were working on that cart, but that horse does have to be the priority here. He cost me an arm and a leg."

The carnival worker scoffed. "I know that, but —" he nodded towards Remus, "— he's got us coming in all the time to —"

"He's got to eat every four hours," Remus protested. "That's what the instructions said."

"It's such a pain in the arse, to be there to —" Jack complained

"Why don't you let me take him to my cage?" Remus suddenly asked Bill. "Or, leave my cage unlocked? If your wards are that good, I can't escape. But I could at least get to the colt whenever I need to, without bothering anyone else."

Bill gave him a long, suspicious look. "No, we won't do that. Can't have you loose among the visitors. Take the colt to your cage, along with whatever you need to feed him. You can put him back at night. We'll try that for a week or two, until he's big enough to go longer in between feedings."

And so, Remus gained a cellmate in the daytime.

**Wednesday, ****14 August—8:37 p.m.**

Alastor Moody opened his hand, revealing the bright gold of a Galleon to the man sitting across from him, then closed it again quickly.

The other man's eyes lit up for a moment, but narrowed as he remembered that there was something that needed to be done to get the gold. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Information," Moody said simply.

"I don't know anything."

"You might surprise yourself with what you know," the Auror told him.

The man took a sip of his butterbeer and regarded Moody thoughtfully.

The Auror tapped the table with the Galleon and sat back, watching the man's eyes, and knowing how the conversation was going inside the man's head: _Should I? What is it to me if someone else gets caught? I can lie. It's a Galleon. Might get two…_

It was always the same with these gits. They'd turn on each other in a heartbeat, given enough gold.

"The information you're wanting might be worth more than a Galleon," the man said.

"It might be," Moody agreed.

The man licked his lips and took another pull from the bottle. "What kind of information are you looking for?"

Alastor leaned forward. "What do you know about a man by the name of Bernard Carmichael and the morning of June fourth?"

The man paled and swallowed hard.

Moody smiled. Here, indeed, was information. It might just be worth two Galleons…

**Saturday, ****17 August—9:05 p.m.**

The Granian foal watched the feather float across the cell. It took a step toward it, its eyes wide with wonder.

Remus made the feather reverse its course, sending it skimming along the colt's nose. It sneezed, and the werewolf chuckled.

Across the aisle, the centaur stood with arms folded, observing. "You should not get attached to the young one," Libertas said.

The werewolf reached out and ruffled the foal's mane. "Don't let him bother you. He's jaded." The colt shoved his nose into Remus' face, and then lipped at the werewolf's nose. Remus laughed again, though it wasn't as bright as it had been just a moment ago.

"If they see you are attached to him, they will find some way to take him away from you," Libertas predicted.

Remus let his fingers curl into the soft baby fur on the colt's shoulders. "I know, Libertas."

He leaned his forehead against the Granian's neck. "Let me enjoy this for now, please?"

A few minutes later, Remus heard footsteps that he guessed were Wally's. No one walked quite as heavily as he did, and he always dragged his fingers along the cage bars….

Remus quickly ended the Silencing spell on the television. The foal's ears pricked forward at the cries that issued from the taped werewolf.

"Hey, wolf," Wally said, unlocking the door, "I've got to take the colt back. You've got something you've got to do."

"Tonight?" Remus asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Yeah." Wally came into the cage and, with surprising gentleness, took the colt's lead rope in his beefy hand. "Bill wants you to clean up Bertie."

Remus glanced over at the centaur, who was gripping the bars of his cage tightly. "Libertas doesn't need help cleaning himself."

"Bill wants him shining like a new Galleon for tomorrow," Bill said, leading the colt out of the cage. "Says he wants his tail completely untangled and his hooves oiled and all."

"Does he want ribbons in his mane and tail too?" Remus asked. Wally didn't understand sarcasm, so the werewolf felt safe in asking that question. Bill or Jack would have probably told him 'yes' just because he asked.

"That's just barmy," Wally said. "Now come on and get whatever you're going to need."

Remus gave Libertas a look of apology as he followed Wally toward the front of the room. Wally turned the colt into his cage, and then led Remus on to the storage area, waiting as Remus collected some clean rags, some brushes and a comb.

"Why does Bill want Libertas 'shining like a new Galleon'?" Remus asked as casually as he could.

Wally shook his head. "You're not getting that from me. He'll find out tomorrow."

"It's not anything —" Remus paused, "— bad, is it?"

The chubby man shrugged. "All depends on what you think 'bad' is. Don't think Bertie's going to like it none, but it isn't going to hurt him or nothing."

Remus and Libertas discussed it as they worked that night, but they were completely clueless about what Bill could want of Libertas. Neither one of them slept well that night.

**Sunday, ****18 August—10:03 a.m.**

Bill met Remus in the storage room. "I want you to give Bertie another half-dose of the Draught," the carnival owner said.

Remus stared at him, then slowly shook his head. "No. I won't do it."

"Gods, you're a pain in the ass," Bill exhaled heavily. "When are you going to get it? You do what I tell you. Now, add another half dose to his water or I add a _double_ dose to his – _and_ to yours. Understood?"

He'd do it too, Remus knew. Boggarts. That was a quickly-lost fight. "What are you doing to him?"

"That's none of your business," Bill said, with a greasy smile. "But just remember that everything here has to do its part to make this carnival work." He jabbed a finger in Remus' direction. "Don't forget: another half portion."

**11:14 a.m.**

"Albus, I need your help with something," Moody said, immediately upon entering the Headmaster's office, and dropping into the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"You have but to ask," Dumbledore said, picking up the little silver dish on his desk and offering a sweet to Moody.

The Auror refused it with an impatient wave of his hand. "I have a lead on Lupin. I talked to a man who was part of it all."

Dumbledore seemed to sit up straighter and taller. "What did this man say?"

"He said that Lupin was sold to a carnival of magical creatures."

Albus sucked thoughtfully on the lemon drop. "Was Bernard Carmichael involved?"

"Yes. He was the one who arranged it all. The man I talked to last night, name of Gordy Fletcher, said he and two others were hired by Carmichael to 'capture' a werewolf and bring it to the carnival."

"Are you certain it was Remus?"

"How many werewolves can there be who have been kidnapped or 'captured' by hired thugs in the past couple of months?" Moody demanded. "He told me enough details about Alatza's shed, and about Lupin himself, that I know it has to be him."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lowered. "Do you have enough evidence to get him out of this — situation?"

Moody shrugged. "Yes and no. Problem is, there are six or seven of these kinds of carnivals in the United Kingdom alone, and a lot more of them on the continent. Fletcher told me he doesn't know the name of the carnival they took Lupin to. Several of them even travel from town to town, so they're more difficult to keep track of."

He sighed. "The Ministry has been plotting a rather complicated operation against a ring of smugglers who are bringing Dark items into the country. I have to leave the country and go to Germany for two weeks. I asked to have some time to investigate the carnivals, but, well, Lupin's a werewolf. The Ministry doesn't hold his disappearance as a priority." His tone was bitter and angry. "So, I was hoping that maybe you could send Hagrid or Kettleburn to the carnivals to see if they can find him."

"And if they do find Remus, what are they to do?" asked Dumbledore. "Especially if you're in Germany?"

"If there is some way you can talk to Remus, to make sure he's alright, that would be the priority. If he's being held against his will, well, you can go to the Aurors. Hopefully someone will listen. If no one listens or if there's a problem…." Moody hesitated. "I don't want you to have to wait until I get back. That's where you may need to — exert some pressure."

"Don't you think that might create more problems?"

"Who's going to complain? The carnival owners? They'd be looking at a kidnapping charge. Or, at the very least, they'd been trafficking in Dark creatures. That carries a rather large fine." Again, Moody's tone became bitter.

"'Trafficking in Dark creatures'?" repeated Dumbledore.

"It carries the same charges as smuggling," Moody said.

"What about Carmichael?"

Alastor swore. "He's still in Poland, or somewhere. He's virtually untouchable."

"He will have to come back at some point."

"If he does, I'll be waiting," Moody promised. "But, for now, will you send Hagrid and Kettleburn to check the carnivals?"

The Headmaster nodded. "I hope to have good news for you when you return."

"I hope so, Albus, I hope so."

**5:26 p.m.**

Remus was feeding the Granian foal when Jack brought Libertas back. The centaur looked tired and, even more than that, depressed.

The werewolf pretended to be focused on the colt, but he was surreptitiously watching Libertas and Jack.

The man was taking a cloth and wiping the centaur's back and sides clean of sweat and dirt. Libertas stood quietly with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low.

"That'll do you until tomorrow," Jack said, running an appraising eye over the centaur's body. "Now, see, that wasn't so bad, was it?" And chuckling, he left.

Remus waited for several minutes, but Libertas didn't move.

"Libertas?"

The centaur's muscles rippled at the sound of Remus' voice, and he stepped deeper into the cage.

"What did they do?" Remus inquired as gently as he could.

"What do they always do?" the centaur asked softly in reply. "They crush the stars in their fists. They destroy the brightness of the sun because they cannot see." He turned finally, but the shadows hid him from Remus' curious gaze. "They degrade us and make us nothing more than animals because it suits their purposes."

The foal butted Remus in the leg, and he looked down. Maybe it was because he knew Remus wasn't looking at him, but Libertas added, "They made me pull a cart today. I provided rides for children."

Remus' heart clenched in sympathy for the centaur. No centaur could ever think that was anything other than the lowest of insults. "I'm sorry, Libertas," he whispered.

"Even the brightest stars fall," the centaur said, turning around again and burying himself in the darkness.

**Monday, ****19 August—9:26 a.m.**

He got careless. That's all he could say. He had been so pleased with himself, at the progress he was making on doing wandless magic, that he forgot to be cautious.

Bill stared at the broken glass on the floor that had once been a pitcher of water.

"How were you doing that?" he demanded, slowly raising his eyes to meet Remus'.

_Play dumb, _insisted a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sirius Black's. "I don't know," Remus replied.

"Don't give me that," Bill said, his voice quiet, but full of growing and menacing anger. "You were doing magic."

"I don't have a wand," Remus protested.

"I saw it. You were levitating it."

_Shit!_ "No, I —"

"You were over there. The pitcher was here. You had your hand out, and you were levitating it to you," Bill told him, taking a step towards him.

Remus took a step back. "No, I…."

Bill stalked across the space that separated them, his hands already formed into fists. Remus couldn't go back any further; all he could do was watch the man advance. Bill stopped right in front of him.

"How did you do that?" Bill repeated.

_When you're caught, act innocent of the charges…__. _"I — I don't know."

Bill's fist came up quickly, catching Remus on the side of his head. Remus didn't even try to dodge it. "Don't _lie_ to me, wolf!"

Remus tentatively raised his hand to rub his now-sore ear. "I don't know how I did it!" he insisted. "It was just something that — happened. I just — did it."

Bill's other fist swung out, connecting with Remus' cheekbone, forcing him back against the table and rocking it. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"I've never done it before!" Remus said, clutching the edge of the table with both hands.

"Lying, stinking _dog_!" yelled Bill, lighting into Remus with both fists.

**1****0:41 a.m.**

"What did you do?" Libertas asked quietly.

"I was stupid," Remus admitted, gingerly wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.

"You won't escape by being stupid," the centaur pointed out.

"You're a lot of help," Remus told him. The Granian foal thrust its nose towards Remus' face. "You're no help either," the werewolf informed the baby.

**Friday, ****23 August—10:49 a.m.**

Libertas refused to eat. He told Remus he'd eat later, when the day was over. Remus chose not to push the issue.

Libertas drank the entire pitcher of water with the Bill-prescribed extra half-portion of Torpeus Draught. He handed the empty vessel to Remus, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Maybe you should double the amount of the drug they use, wolf."

Remus turned and walked out, not knowing what to say.

**Wednesday, ****28 August—6:15 p.m.**

"You have to eat something," Remus pressed.

"Do not concern yourself, wolf."

"You're hardly eating enough to keep yourself alive."

The centaur gave him a pointed look. "Who says I want to keep myself alive?"


	12. Chapter 11:Mercy

You guys know this as well as I do…

A/N: …yadda yadda… thanks… Zarathustra and SortingHat47… et cetera, et cetera…

Disclaimer: …blah blah blah… Remus not mine, damn it all anyhow (and neither is Thewlis, sigh—I'd share him with you, Julie)… owned by JKRowling…

Thanks to all of you who have been sticking with this epic undertaking of mine: (gosh I hope I don't forget anybody) remuslives23, Liv Naravul, Wolviesfan, annacat, cherry-s-twin, PopstarJ01, allycat1186, Sonoralie and CaptainCactus.

**Chapter ****11: Mercy**

**Thursday, ****29 August, 1985**

Remus had chosen some of the best greens for Libertas to try to entice the centaur to eat. Libertas didn't seem to appreciate the trouble he'd gone to; only half of the greens were gone when Remus came back for the bowl.

The werewolf was now utterly and completely worried about the centaur. Libertas wasn't eating; he came back into the tent in the evening with his head hung low; and, he refused to talk.

Remus had to do something. So, as quietly as he could, he practiced flicking his fingers and muttering, "_Alohomora" _at his cage door, not expecting much, but hoping for the best.

**Friday, ****30 August—2:13 p.m.**

Something was up.

Something was definitely up.

When Jack came to escort Remus to the room where the werewolf had transformed the last two times, the carnival worker attached the chains to his collar and around his arms with something close to gentleness.

Remus found it annoying. Actually, he found everything annoying and irksome right now. The moon was rising early today — in a matter of a few hours, but he wouldn't transform until later in the day, and sometimes that was even worse than changing when the moon first rose.

His skin crawled. He was by turns flushed with heat, and pale with cold. He trembled to the point his legs were unsteady. He was nervous and fidgety — he was a mess, he acknowledged. He hated the early full moons.

And Jack's — _niceness _— was making it worse.

Remus tripped on the chains around his ankles, swearing loudly. Jack reached out to steady him, but the werewolf shot a glare at him. Jack pulled his hand back hastily with an _apology._

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Remus snapped.

"With _me_?" Jack asked, looking stunned.

"You're being… _nice_."

Jack sighed. "It's not my place."

"What's not your place?"

"To tell you what's going on."

"So there is something…."

Jack shrugged. "Bill wants to —" And then, just like that, he stopped speaking. "Sorry. Can't say no more. Come on."

He half led, half pushed Remus across the dirt-packed carnival grounds: past the brick building Remus knew as the office; past the trailers for the carnival workers; and on to the small brick building tucked behind a weathered wooden maintenance shed. Everything was almost exactly as Remus had seen it a month ago — or from what he remembered — except one thing.

A large poster in front of the small building proclaimed, "Chance of a Lifetime! You've never seen it — You'll never forget it!" A large picture of a transformed werewolf threw itself at the bars in the foreground. At the bottom of the sign, words proclaimed: "Shows every hour!"

Remus froze. Jack grabbed his arm, trying to propel him forward, but he dug his toes into the dirt, and twisted away from the other man.

"What is this?" he asked breathlessly, staring in horror at the poster, wanting to find something familiar in the wolf's eyes — _his_ eyes — and finding it impossible.

"It's Bill's idea," replied Jack. There was a heartbeat of silence and then the carnival worker added quietly, "I don't like it."

Remus' shock at Jack's admission broke his concentration and enabled Jack to push him into the building.

It had been magically enlarged: enough benches to seat around thirty or forty people had been placed inside. A thick blue curtain was hung in front of the bars and Jack pushed it aside to reveal the bars and the open cage door.

Remus walked willingly enough inside the enclosure and waited for Jack to take the chains from his arms. Jack gave him yet another apologetic look.

"Bill said he wants to keep those on for now." He closed the door and locked it. "I've got to go feed the animals. I'll make sure the colt's taken care of." He hesitated then said, "I don't think this is right, but it's my job, you know?"

"Then let me go," Remus said softly.

Jack looked at him, shaking his head. "Then it's my life, understand?"

Remus said nothing. What was there to say? He went over and slumped down into a corner, letting the chains fall around the knees that he pulled tight to his chest. He shut his eyes, but all he could see was the poster of himself.

**3:30 p****.m**

Bill's voice preceded him into the building, so Remus had a little time to prepare himself for the sight of the man. It didn't help completely: he still had to fight the urge to charge at Bill and rip the man's throat out, and taste the hot, salty blood that would….

"Hey, wolf," the carnival owner said in greeting as he pushed the curtain aside. "Jack says you saw the sign."

Remus just stared at him with eyes full of loathing. His head and every muscle in his neck and upper back ached with tension, but his legs were too quivery to stand.

"Nothing to say?" prompted Bill. "No comments about it being unfair, or not being right, or anything?"

"No." Remus finally said hoarsely. "I just hope the bars are strong enough to hold me."

"They held you before."

"There wasn't a crowd on the other side of the bars then." The werewolf leaned his aching head back against the wall, but kept his eyes on Parsons. "You know, if you wanted to kill me, you could have just slipped wolfsbane in my food or something and taped that."

"It's not going to be that bad," Bill scoffed.

"I am going to tear myself into bloody ribbons today," Remus said calmly. "You might want to warn people about the blood."

It had taken every ounce of strength and patience that was within him to talk to Parsons without screaming or snarling, so he shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He heard Bill's footsteps approach him quickly, purposefully, but he didn't look. He braced himself, expecting — but not receiving — a kick or some kind of blow.

"When are you going to turn?" The American's voice was loud and full of barely suppressed excitement.

"It's not an exact science, you know," Remus found enough energy to snap.

"Then give me your best effing estimate."

"Three hours," Remus said.

He said it so quickly, though, that Parsons immediately debated the truth of it. "What's the earliest estimate?"

He opened his eyes and glared at the American. "I don't know. It changes. But even if I gave you an estimate, you're not going to believe me, are you?"

Parsons was very, very quiet for a long, long minute. Then he said quietly, "Here's the way it is, wolf. Give me an early estimate of when you're turning. If I think you're lying to me, in any way — whether it's when you're going to turn, or if you're hoping to turn while no one's here — I'm going to let people start coming in now. And they can just sit here, watching you mope here in the corner. Now, do you want me to start letting them in?"

"They wouldn't be getting much of a show right now, would they?" Remus shot back.

The carnival owner laughed. "Oh, but I'm sure they will fairly soon. I've seen you on these days. Think they won't find it entertaining to watch a naked wolf-man pacing back and forth, snarling as if he's a beast already? There are women out there who'll pay just to see you naked. I'll call it the 'Ladies' Special' — and charge them five Galleons instead of ten."

Remus stared at him. "You are such a bastard."

"You have no idea how much of a bastard I can be. I'd put my own mother in here with you if I thought it'd sell tickets." Parsons began to laugh loudly, cruelly.

**5****:37 p.m.-6:49 p.m. **

The benches were filled with curious men and women, and a few teenagers who obviously had dared each other to be there. The room darkened, and they clapped as the curtain was drawn back.

All in all, it wasn't much of a show: the werewolf hadn't transformed into its bloodthirsty state yet. Instead, he sat in the corner, unmoving, knees drawn up to his chest, face hidden by his arms, which were draped over his knees. Every once in a while, he'd shudder or groan softly.

A carnival worker went into the cage and poked at him with what appeared to be the broken off handle of a shovel or rake. The werewolf raised his head long enough to glare at him, but resisted the prodding to get him moving.

After three-quarters of an hour had passed, the carnival owner announced that since the werewolf hadn't put on much of a show, they'd be allowed to stay a little longer.

And that's when things got interesting.

The werewolf suddenly rose to his feet. It was only then that some of them saw the chains around his ankles and the collar around his neck.

There were several crude comments by the teenagers, but for the most part, everyone was captivated by the sight of the man pacing with obvious lupine grace. He glanced at the crowd occasionally, but it was without self-consciousness. Instead, there was a feral and almost calculating look in his eyes, and it sent shivers down more than one spine.

And then, it happened. It was as the poster promised: they'd never see anything like it again. The man suddenly froze, his face grimacing in pain, and a spasm shook his body violently. He went to his hands and knees, almost sobbing. And then, he began to scream.

There was the sound of cracking that could only be the sound of bone breaking, and a woman in the audience screamed. A teenager in the front row began to retch.

The man's legs and arms were changing, some bones lengthening, some becoming shorter. His back hunched, and his head shook from side to side. His face was stretching, becoming more pointed, and as it did, his screams began to deepen. Fingernails and toenails began to grow, becoming more curved, pointed, and deadly, as were his teeth. Clothing ripped as the changing body pushed the fabric beyond its limitations. The shredded cloth fell in tattered bits, littering the ground.

A man from the back of the crowd rose quickly and ran from the room, holding his hand over his mouth.

The spine was extending, creating the base of a tail. Gray fur began to sprout from it, and from the pores all over the man's body. Hands and feet changed into paws. The skull seemed to shift, the man's forehead shrinking, and the ears moving and becoming more pointed until they rose above the top of the creature's head. The chains that had once rested around the man's ankles now slipped to the floor with a metallic clanking noise.

The screams were now more like howls….

Within two minutes, it was all over, and a large, wolf-like creature stood wearily where a man once had. The wolf's head and tail hung limply, as if in exhaustion, but the nose was twitching rapidly. And then suddenly, the wolf raised its head and the lips parted, revealing sharp fangs.

With no more warning than that, the beast charged at the crowd, its clawed forelegs reaching between the bars, stretching to reach the humans closest to the cage. The teenagers yelled and scrambled to get further away from the animal. It snarled viciously, trying to wedge its head through the bars.

And in the back of the room, Bill Parsons grinned.

**5****:54 p.m.**

"Are there any questions?" Albus Dumbledore asked. "Everyone has their duty schedule?"

The professors at Hogwarts all nodded and made noises of assent, except Fergus Kettleburn.

"Headmaster, Hagrid and I were going to one of those magical creature carnivals on Tuesday. Should we go Wednesday or could I shift my afternoon class ahead half an hour?"

Dumbledore's response was immediate. "You may move it ahead, Fergus."

"How many of those carnivals have you visited?" Minerva McGonagall asked.

"Four," Kettleburn replied. "We started with the ones that Moody thought would be the most likely to have a werewolf — the shadiest ones and the ones that move the most often. He thought those carnivals would be the most likely to try to do something as insane as to hold a werewolf."

"Indeed," Severus Snape muttered.

"How many more are on the list?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"Three. Of those three, this one we're visiting Tuesday seems to be the most likely to have Lupin," Kettleburn said. "The last carnival on the list, Bentley and Parsons', has operated within Ministry-approved standards for at least two hundred years. Neither Moody nor I can see them even wanting to deal with all the safety issues that would arise from having a werewolf, the least of which would be a proper containment area."

"I hear they have an Erumpent," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "That doesn't much speak for worrying about safety issues."

"An Erumpent can be pacified. It's not a Dark creature," Kettleburn said. "A werewolf, though…."

"Are we finished with the _important_ things?" Snape interrupted. Merlin, if he had to sit through another minute of this conversation, he'd vomit.

Dumbledore's gaze rested upon him and he nodded. "Yes, Severus, I do believe we have finished discussing items of immediate interest to you."

The Potions master rose quickly, his robes billowing around him.

He didn't leave the room quickly enough. Before the door closed behind him, he heard Kettleburn's next comment, "Moody's worried that it may already be too late."

Severus wasn't quite certain why that bothered him. It was only Lupin, after all.

**Saturday, ****31 August—11:05 a.m.**

"You have to do something!"

Remus groaned at the man's loud voice. His aching head thumped with each syllable.

"I'm doing what I can, Bill." The woman's voice, on the other hand, was quiet and comforting: as soothing as the hands that rubbed his wounds with the same kind of paste that she'd used at the beginning of July.

Bill sighed heavily. "It's going to be days before he's going to be of any help to us."

"Didn't he do enough yesterday? And last night?" Ruthie asked. Remus heard a note of bitterness in her voice on his behalf and was grateful for it.

"Everything has to do its part," Parsons reminded her.

"I understand that," she said. "But you can't expect someone to kill themselves for money — and for you."

"I _own_ him," Bill snapped. "If I expect it, he'll do it."

**Sunday, 1 September—****6:26 p.m.**

Libertas watched the still form of the werewolf. Lupin was lying flat on his back in the cage, breathing unevenly, and there was a hitch in every breath that told of pain, hot and deep.

The centaur knew how Lupin felt. He felt that same agony in his soul.

**Monday, ****2 September—8:49 a.m.**

Remus sat up tentatively, flexing muscles that had been deliberately ignored for the past couple of days.

"Wolf."

"Horse," he whispered. His throat felt as if he'd swallowed sand.

"You are better." The centaur made it a statement.

He didn't know where he got the wherewithal to mutter, "Better than what?"

Libertas stamped a hoof, in either appreciation or impatience.

"What day is it?" Remus asked the centaur, glancing around his cage.

"It is the third day after the full moon."

There was a pitcher of water in the cage, and a tin cup. Should he risk drinking it? He crawled on hands and knees to where the pitcher sat on the floor beside the bars. With shaky hands, he poured some of the water into the cup and sniffed it. He couldn't detect any trace of the drug, so he took a cautious sip. The water was cool, refreshing, and completely drug-free. Two more cups helped him to feel vaguely more like himself, and he began to inspect his latest scars.

"You did not have an easy transformation," Libertas observed.

"No," he confirmed. He decided to be forthright about what happened. After all, the centaur had told him about the cart…. "_He_ let people come in to watch me turn into the wolf. And then he let others come in to watch the wolf rip itself to bits because there were humans right on the other side of the bars that it couldn't get to."

"Do you remember any of it?" the centaur asked after a long moment.

Remus thought about it then shook his head. "Not much of it. Just some before I transformed."

"Be thankful for that," Libertas opined.

**7:41 p.m.**

Libertas hadn't eaten a thing. Remus watched the centaur pick at the greens in his bowl, and then finally set the bowl on the floor next to the door.

"Libertas," he said quietly.

The centaur glanced over. "Lupin."

"Please eat."

"I am not hungry."

Remus decided that maybe some honest begging might help. "Look, if you die, who am I going to talk to? I'll die of boredom in a week."

"You would acclimate yourself."

"But I'd really rather not have to do that," Remus said, finishing the last of the sausages on his own plate.

"Then die with me, Wolf."

Remus tilted his head in thought. That didn't sound like a bad idea at this point.

**Tuesday, ****3 September—10:51 a.m.**

Jack led Libertas out of the cage. The centaur stumbled badly when his back hoof caught on one of his front ones, and he went down on his knees in the tanbark.

"Come on," Jack said impatiently, tugging at the reins attached to the harness strapped around the centaur's body.

It took several attempts for the centaur to get to his feet.

Remus closed his eyes and sank back onto his mattress, wondering how long it would be before Libertas went down — and wouldn't be able to get back up.

A few minutes later, he sat up again, and flicked his fingers at the lock on his door. "_Alohomora_," he muttered. Nothing happened. He hadn't expected it to. But he had to entertain himself somehow.

**4**** September—3:00 a.m.**

He was so close. He could feel it. He had almost done it five minutes ago, and the surprise of success had destroyed his concentration, or what there was left of it. He was so tired — but he was so _close_. Across the aisle, Libertas watched, knowing he was working on a spell, but not knowing which one it was.

Remus focused. He'd try one more time… He extended his hand, centered the lock of his cell door between his index and pinky fingers and hissed, "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and slowly the door swung open.

Libertas came to the bars quickly. "You opened it!"

Remus swallowed hard. "Yes, I did." He stepped into the doorway, preventing the door from closing, and just waited. If the cages were individually warded after what had happened with the clabbert, now was the time to find out. But after several minutes of nothing happening, Remus knew he could make the assumption that maybe the tent was warded, but the cages were not. That made it a little easier….

He stepped into the center of the aisle and stood in front of the door of the centaur's cage. Then, focusing on the lock that he had framed between his fingers, just like a moment ago, he whispered the spell again.

The door of the centaur's cage shuddered and then popped open.

Almost instantly, Libertas came out of the cage. "Lupin, we must leave now." He seemed to be almost bashful as he added, "You can ride on my back, if you feel you don't have the strength to —"

But Remus was shaking his head. "I'm not going."

The centaur stared at him in disbelief. "You're not going? Are you mad?"

Remus grinned lopsidedly. "I'm sure it appears that way, but I can't. I have to take care of the creatures here. If I don't, who will? The clabbert, the hippogriff, the colt… They need me."

Libertas swished his tail angrily. "You cannot stay here. They will kill you. The last two full moons nearly have. You know if you stay, you will die."

"I know how to make myself useful, though," Remus said. "I'll do a better job of it. If you're going to go, you'd better go _now_."

"I can't just leave you," the centaur protested.

"You have to," Remus insisted. "Look, if you want to help me, maybe you can get in touch with the centaurs that live near Hogsmeade in Scotland. Ask them to tell someone at the Castle where I am. Maybe someone will come for me."

"Lupin, I don't feel right about this."

"I don't give a damn what you feel about this," Remus said harshly. "Now get the hell out of here before someone notices. Run. Fast. You hear me? Now GO!" And he reached out and smacked the centaur's rump.

Startled, Libertas jumped forward. He started to turn, but the werewolf snapped, "Go, damn you!"

The centaur apparently recognized the determined set of Lupin's jaw. Without another word of protest, he galloped down the aisle, through the closed tent flaps, and out into the fresh air of the night.

Remus quickly slammed the centaur's cage door shut then darted back into his cell, pulling that door shut behind him, rubbing his silver-burnt hands against his shirt. He dove under his blanket and rolled on his side, pretending to be sleeping. If the wards were active, it wouldn't be long.

Almost fifteen minutes passed before the lights came on in the tent, rousing the animals and causing several of them to growl and chirp in disgruntlement. Remus sat up, knowing he couldn't fake sleep with the rising cacophony.

It was Bill and Jack who came into the tent and began to peer in the cages to make sure all of the inmates were still accounted for. It was only a couple of minutes before they made it back to the werewolf and the empty centaur cage.

They discussed the centaur's absence in hushed tones quickly then Bill sent Jack to get Wally and another carnival worker, who Remus had once heard referred to as Nick, to start tracking the centaur. When Jack was gone, Bill came to stand beside the bars of Remus' cage.

"I thought it'd be you," Bill said in wonder.

"Thought that it'd be me to do what?" Remus asked.

"Escape."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Remus said.

"There will be another time, I'm sure," Bill said. "But for now, I want to know: how did he get out?"

"How would I know?" Remus countered.

"You're right across from him. What did you do?"

"How could I do anything? I'm locked up in here."

"Did you see anything?"

The werewolf shook his head. "No."

"Did you know he was escaping?"

"Don't you think I'd have gone with him if I had known?" Remus asked, forcing himself to sound frustrated and angry.

"Good point," Bill admitted. Still, he remained there, staring at the werewolf with a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally he said, "You did magic the other day."

"I told you I don't know how that happened."

"But you expected it."

"No," Remus contradicted him. "I just — did it. I wasn't thinking that I couldn't do it. It just — happened."

"I wonder what else you can do," Bill mused.

"All I can say is that if I could have opened a cage door, I'd have opened my own," Remus said. "Now, can I get back to sleep?"

Bill reached over and tugged at the silvered cage door. It remained closed. With a last thoughtful look at Remus, he walked away.

Remus lay back down and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. A smile tugged at his lips though and he whispered, "Go, Libertas, go."

**7****:20 p.m.**

Remus woke up to the sound of the key in the cage door.

Bill looked angry. "Let's go," he said curtly.

Remus slowly began to untangle himself from his blanket.

It apparently wasn't fast enough for the carnival owner, because he crossed the space between them in long strides, grabbed Remus by the arm, and jerked him to his feet.

He stopped the werewolf at the storage room to attach the short chain to the collar around Remus' neck, and dragged him through the tent flaps. He seemed to be too much in a hurry to bother with chains for either Remus' legs or arms.

Wally was standing right outside and he fell into step with Bill on the other side of Remus.

"Is he still alive?" Bill asked, with the sharp, clipped tones of someone who was absolutely furious.

"Yes," Wally replied. He looked nervous.

"What's wrong?" Remus took the opportunity to ask.

Bill jerked the short chain. "Shut up. You'll find out soon enough."

They took him away from the carnival grounds to a small forested area set beyond the building that Remus transformed in. Jack was waiting at the edge of the trees.

Bill pushed the werewolf ahead of him. "Keep going."

It was difficult, trying to work his way around the underbrush and fallen logs barefooted, but somehow, Remus managed to stay on his feet until he arrived at a small clearing ringed by evergreens. There was something lying in the middle of the thick grass. Something large.

Remus stopped, a sob catching in his throat.

"Go," Bill said, giving the werewolf a shove.

Remus staggered forward a few steps, lost his balance and fell to his knees — right at Libertas' head.

"Oh, boggarts," Remus whispered.

An unfamiliar man was kneeling next to Libertas. He was pressing a bloody towel against the centaur's side.

"He's been shot," Bill said from behind Remus. "Do you know anything about bullet wounds?"

Remus barely knew anything about firearms, much less wounds caused by them. Still he had to try something. He motioned to the man with the towel. "Move."

The man leaned back, and Remus lifted the towel away from the centaur's hide. It was an incredibly small hole to have created that much damage — to have caused that much blood. The bullet must have hit a blood vessel.

He touched the centaur's shoulder. "Libertas?"

Bill muttered something about the centaur being unconscious, but Libertas' eyelids flickered and opened. "Lupin?"

"What happened?" Remus whispered harshly.

Libertas took several heartbeats to answer — heartbeats in which more blood spilled into the towel. "I didn't run fast enough."

Remus swallowed hard. "I don't know what to do for you."

The centaur's eyes met his. "Yes. You do."

"I can't —"

Libertas reached over and grabbed Remus' hand, entwining their fingers. "Mercy, wolf, _mercy._"

"No," the werewolf said, closing his eyes over the wetness that was forming within them. "I can't do that, Libertas."

"What are you two talking about? Can you heal him up or not, wolf?" Bill demanded behind him.

Remus opened his eyes and looked up. It was a beautiful summer morning: the azure sky was brightening with every minute, and white, puffy clouds were scudding along on the slight breeze…. This was not a day to die — or take another's life. He couldn't.

"You can't ask me to do this," he said to Libertas, his voice shaky and husky with tears.

"I can't ask anyone else," the centaur said. "Only you can help. Only you _know _—"

Remus finished the sentence inside his head. Only he knew what it was like to be imprisoned behind those bars — and how death seemed preferable.

A memory suddenly insinuated itself among his thoughts: his father finding a mortally wounded deer, and quickly muttering a spell to end its suffering….

"I can't," Remus repeated, tears suddenly spilling from his eyes.

"Are you going to do something or not, wolf?" Bill yelled.

"_Please._" The centaur's lips moved, but no sound emerged.

Remus reached out with his other hand and stroked the smooth, chestnut hide. Then he twisted his fingers, as he remembered his father doing…. His tears made everything blurry, and the lump in his throat made it nearly impossible to say, "_Clementia Bestia."_

Libertas gasped and stiffened, but his eyes never left Remus' face. The werewolf met his gaze, saw the centaur's eyes widen with the knowledge of what was happening — and then, suddenly, unbelievably, Remus saw — peace. It settled over the centaur's features, and there was something similar to a smile on his face when his eyes dulled. Remus felt Libertas' fingers spasm against his, and he tightened the grip. He wasn't letting go until he was sure the centaur was gone.

"What did you do?" Bill's ugly drawl interrupted his thoughts. The American's voice was dangerously quiet.

"Mercy," Remus whispered, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I gave him mercy."

"_Mercy_?" Bill repeated incredulously. "You killed him!"

Remus stroked Libertas' equine shoulder one last time then stood. "He was dying. I couldn't do anything else."

Bill stared at him then repeated, "You killed him."

Remus sighed heavily. "Yes."

"With _magic_." Bill said.

_Oh, shit._ "Yes."

He barely remembered how he got back into his cage. He remembered a lot of shoving, and hitting and punching, and Bill shoved him deliberately against the silver bars, pinning the werewolf there for several minutes while he snapped out directions to his men.

Jack came in, holding silver chains with thick cuffs to go around his ankles.

He fought them, Bill and Wally, mainly, while Jack stood nearby, silver cuffs open, just waiting for the right moment….

But then, Remus got lucky. He somehow managed to elbow Wally in the face, and as the fatter man wheeled backwards, blood gushing from his nose, Remus started to turn towards the open cage door. But Jack dropped the chains and grabbed his arm, swinging him around….

Bill was waiting. His fist connected with Remus' cheekbone and the werewolf crashed against the silver bars.

Snarling, Remus turned and saw a silver flash….

The knife in Bill's hand slashed across Remus' belly, but the werewolf didn't stop to see if it had actually pierced skin. He threw himself at Bill, managing to punch the man in the stomach, winding him. He turned again for the door, but Jack was already there, swinging the door shut. The clanging sound sent chills down Remus' spine, and he moaned with grief.

Any chance of freedom was lost.

And then his body let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the knife had done damage. Fire blazed through his belly and he glanced down to see the broad line of blood bisecting his torso.

He staggered backwards, his left arm tightly clamped across the wound, gasping at the pain.

Hands were suddenly all over him, pushing him down to the ground, and Remus again heard the clinking of the silver chains.

"No!" he yelled.

Bill cursed in his ear, and he tried to jerk away from the man.

"Grab his legs, Wally!" Jack was shouting. Wally released Remus' right arm to reach across to pin the werewolf's left leg down.

Remus didn't think about it — he just knew he had to get away from these men, and the threat of the silver. His right hand swung up, his fingers already twisting as he knew his wand had when he had fought the Death Eaters, and Jack was sent flying backwards across the cell to crash against the bars.

"Can't do magic, eh?" Bill screamed. "I'll damn well fix that!"

He grabbed Remus' right arm, pinned it to the floor, and yelled something to Jack, who dizzily rose from the ground and, after fumbling with the keys and the lock, left the cell.

Remus squirmed and twisted, but Bill viciously punched him in the gut, right below the bloody line. Remus was still sobbing with the agony of it when Jack returned and handed something to Bill….

The carnival owner then proceeded to smash the bones in Remus' hand with a hammer.

**(I'm not here. I'm hiding.)**


	13. Chapter 12:Discovery

A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47, who told me no one would kill me for the goings on of Chap. 11. Thanks also to Zarathustra, somehow deals with my love of commas.

Disclaimer: JKRowling was the one who royally screwed Remus Lupin and Severus Snape over — er, created Remus and Snape. (Didn't it seem pretty ironic poor Snape ended up dead for the sake of convenience, rather than actually getting caught spying? Not saying I liked him a whole lot better after that, but I did think that was a pretty lousy way to go…)

Also, a couple of days ago, I threw together a short one-shot thing called "Breathe." It's angst-y Remus and angst-y Sirius, and a couple of my close fanfic pals convinced me it was pretty good, so I posted it here somewhere. Check it out!

**Chapter ****12: Discovery**

**Thursday, ****5 September, 1985—10:45 a.m.**

As far as Severus Snape was concerned, it was an incontrovertible fact that the students were more idiotic and less respectful each school year — and he had only been teaching for four years. He shuddered to think what the students would be like in ten years.

He had developed an uncanny ability to detect when students were doing something that they ought not be doing — and had developed the stealth necessary to discover what those things were. Like now, for instance….

While Severus found the subject of Potions fascinating, he was keenly aware that very few people felt the same way. The two fifth years he was focused on right now were examples of that. They had barely passed this course last year. So, when Severus saw them with their eyes glued to the Potions text — practically enraptured — he knew they weren't seeing the words that were on the page.

He made his way to the back of the room then came silently up the aisle behind the two boys. Ah, yes. Something was tucked inside the Potions textbook. Several small things, actually. They looked like postcards.

Severus took three long, silent strides to bring him behind the boys, reached down and plucked the cards right out of the boys' hands before they even knew he was there.

"I would expect nothing else from two who just barely made it through this class last year," he said dryly. "Whose are these?"

"Mine, sir," replied Jonathan Blotts. He was blond and handsome, and much favoured by the girls in every House, not just Ravenclaw. He was also remarkably stupid by Ravenclaw standards. There was more than one professor who thought the Sorting Hat must have been playing a horrible joke to have sorted him into that House.

"Yours." Severus glanced down at the top card. It was charmed to show coloured marquee lights chasing each other around the words: "Bentley and Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures." After a few seconds, the logo would disappear, and whatever message had been written would appear, along with the address of the person for whom the postcard was intended. "It is too bad that your father did not spend the money on a tutor for you, instead of on — these."

"Oh, but sir, he did," Blotts protested. "He hired a Potions tutor for me this summer."

"Did he now?" Snape felt one corner of his lips twist into an almost-smile. This was going to be — fun. "Well, why don't we see how well your tutor did this summer?" He tucked the cards into a pocket in his robes. "Everyone put your books away and let's have our first quiz of the year, shall we?"

There were groans, and several black looks were thrown in the direction of Severus and the unfortunate Mr Blotts.

"You will now list the ingredients of the Invigoration Draught, tell what it is used for, and the possible side effects." Severus walked slowly toward his desk, stopping to look down his nose at one student in particular. "Mr Burrows, I suggest you keep your handwriting to a reasonable size, or you will be writing ten times as much for me in detention." He took the last couple of steps to the desk, lifted his chin to survey the class with scorn then intoned, "You may begin."

While the students slaved over their work, he took the postcards out of his pocket and glanced at the one on the top. He recognized the name that was flashing on the front. This was the carnival that Hagrid and Kettleburn hadn't yet visited in the search for Lupin.

Curious in spite of himself, Severus turned the card over, and saw a hippogriff. It looked as if it was staring right at him, but it bowed its head and then its beak moved, as if it were squawking at him.

Slightly impressed, the Potions master put it on the bottom of the stack and shuffled through the others. He saw a clabbert, a niffler, and a jarvey…. He suddenly dropped the cards as if his fingers had been burned. They spread out as they hit the desk, and the one that had startled him fell free of the others.

He stared at it with wide eyes, lost in the memories of all those years ago, when he had — out of curiosity, out of anger, out of something else altogether maybe — gone under the Whomping Willow.…

He quickly gathered the postcards, putting the most frightening one at the bottom then placed them inside the top drawer on the right hand side of his desk. His heart was beating rapidly, and he was having a hard time catching his breath.

He now knew exactly where Remus Lupin was.

But — what was he to do with that information?

**Friday, ****6 September—7:14 p.m.**

There was nothing for it. That asinine postcard was going to drive him insane. He had tried to ignore it, tried to forget about it, but every time he looked at his desk he thought of it. When he was eating steak and kidney pie for dinner last night, he found himself thinking about werewolves and meat, and completely lost his appetite. A chance remark in the Staff Room this morning about Blotts and his deficiency at Transfiguration made him think about the cards all over again.

But damn it all! He didn't want to think of Lupin, or that postcard! Or if he did think about it, he only wanted to be able to remember that the thing in the picture had nearly killed him. It _deserved_ to be in the cage, behind those bars that could be seen. _Lupin_ deserved it!

Didn't he?

Severus went to his classroom and, thanks to familiarity, found his way to his desk without turning on the lights and without injury.

Holding his breath, he opened the top drawer. His nimble fingers found the card at the bottom and withdrew it. Without making sure it was the right one, he tucked it into his pocket and went back to his rooms.

Once there, he sat down in a chair near the fireplace and picked up the glass of wine he had poured earlier.

What made him so certain the werewolf on the postcard was Lupin? Surely werewolves looked alike — how many different colours could there be?

And even if it was Lupin, why did it matter to him? It was _Lupin_, for Merlin's sake! He had almost been killed by Lupin — and Black! But even as he thought that, he sighed. Lupin hadn't been aware of what Black had done. Judging by the gossip-worthy month-long estrangement between the two Gryffindors, Lupin had wanted no part of it.

Had he been kidnapped as Moody claimed? Severus sipped at the wine. Lupin had done a remarkable job of hiding his — condition — from the students at Hogwarts. Why would he now voluntarily reveal himself as a werewolf? And why would he do it in such a —public manner?

_Because he ha__d nothing left to lose._

His parents were dead, if Severus wasn't mistaken — and he rarely was — and Lupin's friends — he closed his eyes, thinking of Lily — were either dead or in Azkaban.

Who was left to honestly care if the picture on this postcard _was_ Lupin? Why should _Severus_ care?

He'd almost been _killed_ by Lupin!

The professors at Hogwarts were concerned. They'd promised to help Moody in the search. But if they found out that the werewolf was dead, would they mourn his loss? Maybe for a day or two, but then there would be students to take their attention — exams to administer, detentions to give, advice to distribute — and the memory of Lupin would slip away.

_Would it be like that for me? I had nothing left to lose when I came here. No family to speak of, no friends…__. All I ever had was Lily, and I lost her…._

Lily had loved Lupin.

Not in the same way she loved James. But she had confessed her crush to Severus in the summer between their second and third years. It was after that point that Severus had really noticed Lupin's absences, and had become curious….

Nothing had ever happened between Lily and Lupin, or at least nothing more than a deep friendship. Or at least, not to Snape's knowledge — and he had made it his business to know.

Lily would want him to save Lupin. Lily would have already gone to Bentley and Parsons' Carnival, and seen for herself whether or not the werewolf was Lupin.

Severus finished the wine in one swallow and stood up. He would tell Minerva McGonagall that he had something to do — some ingredients he needed for a potion for the sixth years, maybe — and he'd be gone for an hour. There was no point in telling anyone what he was doing. There was no point in getting anyone's hopes up.

_I could wait for Hagrid or Kettleburn to find him…__._ The thought stopped him in his tracks. They were already planning to go to Bentley and Parsons'. Which day had they chosen? Tomorrow? No. Sunday morning, they had said. Surely Lupin could wait for two more days….

He heard Kettleburn's voice: "Moody's worried that it may already be too late."

He traded his professor's robes for robes of a little better quality, but still black. In another couple of minutes, he was striding quickly through the halls to find McGonagall.

He'd do this for Lily. And only because of Lily.

**8:04 p.m.**

There were four young men, only slightly younger than Severus, crowded around the smiling American at the gate of Bentley & Parsons' Carnival when the Potions professor arrived.

"No, boys, there's nothing I can do about it."

"But can't you get him to transform every weekend or something? My girlfriend wants to see it," whined one of the youths.

A dark-haired boy on the left of the whiner punched him in the arm. "Stupid git! A werewolf only transforms at the full moons! Don't you watch the movies?"

Severus froze. _A werewolf. And it's still here. _He's…_._

But before Severus could complete the thought, he heard someone call his name. Startled, he turned quickly and saw another young man break away from another small group of young people just emerging from the tent. The young man was immediately familiar to him as someone who had just left Hogwarts a year previous. He had been uncommonly gifted in Potions, and Severus had enjoyed teaching him — as much as it was possible teaching young cretins….

"Professor Snape! I thought it was you!" The young man seemed almost ready to extend his hand, but thought better of it.

Severus nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. "Firestone."

He could still hear the babbling of the young men crowded around the American.

"…can't believe how real it all was!"

"All that blood! It was brilliant!"

"I've never seen any special effects like that, even in the movies!"

Firestone interrupted Snape's eavesdropping by continuing his conversation. "How are you, sir?"

"I am well. And you?"

"Wonderful! I just got hired by an apothecary in Leeds…." And without any concern that his story might bore his listener to tears, Firestone launched into a lengthy account of how he'd gotten the job.

A comment from the whiny young man stole his attention. "You could make thousands if you'd just let him do that act every weekend."

"Ah, look..." The American leaned forward, beckoning to the boys to come closer. "The thing is, the Actors' Guild won't permit it, you know. With all the hours he spends in that cage, and that whole transformation thing, well…."

"Bloody hell," sighed the shortest boy there. "I guess I'll have to wait, then."

"You just should have told your mum —"

"It was her birthday!" the boy protested. "You can't tell your mum you're going to go watch a werewolf transform instead of going to her birthday party."

'_Watch a werewolf transform'? They actually…__._

"So, I told them that I had you as my Potions teacher, and they decided to give me a go," Firestone continued happily.

It was then that Severus noticed that the American had been listening to Firestone's prattling. It had been very cleverly done, but the man had worked his way around the crowd of boys so that he was now closer to Snape and Firestone, and one ear was casually cocked in their direction.

"I am… happy for you," Severus said finally, thinking inwardly that he really didn't care at all, but convention demanded at least a polite answer at this point. Besides, he wasn't sure why the man was listening to them. Surely the job prospects of a young wizard in Leeds couldn't be that interesting.

"C'mon Firestone!" someone called.

The younger man glanced back at his friends. "I have to go, but I did want to say hello, and, er, thanks."

"No thanks are needed," Severus said. "I wish you success."

"Thank you!" The boy smiled broadly. "Enjoy the show. It's too bad the werewolf exhibit is closed, though. I'd have liked to have seen it."

The American turned at Firestone's words. "You'll need to come back at the next full moon and see the show!"

"I heard it was amazing," the apothecary's apprentice commented.

"You'll never see anything like it in your life," the man promised.

"Let's go, Firestone!"

The younger man said a quick goodbye and walked away, leaving the American and Severus standing face to face.

"What kind of show could you have involving a werewolf — especially at the full moon?" Severus asked.

"We allow you to spend an hour in the same room with a transformed werewolf — for a small price, of course." The man's grin was predatory.

"Of course," Snape said dryly. "Though that sounds… dangerous."

"Nah," the American scoffed. "He's behind bars. It's perfectly safe." He glanced around, and saw that they were now alone. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you…."

"I thought that was what we were doing," Severus said.

The man chuckled. "So it is. No, listen…." He grabbed Snape's arm and tugged. The Potions master looked down at the offending hand, then up at the man's face. The look on his face apparently was enough to convince the man to let go, and then motion for Severus to follow him a few steps away from the tent's flaps — and any people who might be exiting.

"I heard that kid say you taught Potions."

Severus said nothing.

"Let me introduce myself. I'm Bill Parsons, co-owner of Bentley and Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures."

"Severus Snape." Neither man extended his hand.

The man did smile, however. "You know a carnival of our nature has access to a variety of potion ingredients, for a reasonable price: Jobberknoll feathers, doxy eggs, Murtlap tentacles…" he paused for dramatic effect, "…ground Erumpent horn, Re'em blood, werewolf blood.…"

"Some of those are highly regulated substances," Severus said calmly.

"They are," the other man agreed. "But it's always useful to have on hand for some of the more… interesting spells, don't you think?"

"What makes you think I would be interested in such a thing?"

Parsons rolled his eyes and with a wide sweep of his hand, indicated the black robes that Severus wore. "I've been in this business long enough to know someone who is familiar with the Darker elements of magic."

The Potions professor's eyes narrowed. "I doubt very much that my Headmaster would approve of anything with Darker elements being introduced to the students."

"Ah, but you have to have some of the Darker stuff on hand, don't you?" the American pressed. "If only for the educational aspects of it."

"I can get those sorts of things from the Ministry," Severus pointed out. "Or from suppliers with whom I've been trading."

"Not at the price I could get them for you," Parsons smirked.

"And how much would you charge for items such as Murtlap tentacles, or doxy eggs, or…" Severus paused, "…werewolf blood?" _Lupin's__ blood…._

"The tentacles range from five to ten Galleons, depending on if you want them dried or fresh. Doxy eggs, well, those are two Galleons a litre—and the other? A mere twenty Galleons for half a litre."

"Twenty Galleons?" Severus repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly.

The other man shrugged.

"The Ministry sells a full litre for seventy-five, but it is guaranteed to have been drawn from a fully transformed werewolf," Snape said.

"Oh, I could guarantee that this was from the wolf, too," Parsons said. "And there are tests you can do to prove that it was. I'd be willing to prove it to you."

Severus clasped his hands behind his back. "Am I to assume the blood is from the werewolf you have here?"

"He has to earn his keep somehow," the American said with a shrug.

"Taken at the last full moon?"

The carnival owner smiled, thinking that he had the potions master hooked, and was reeling him in slowly. "Yes. And chilled right away, so there was no chance for contamination."

"It seems you have taken every precaution to preserve its efficacy," Severus said.

"Absolutely."

"I will think on it, then," Snape said.

"You'll have to let me know soon," Parsons warned him. "I can only draw so much out of him at a time, and it usually sells quickly."

"I understand." Severus took a step back, intimating that the conversation was over. "I did come here to see your creatures, though, and I would like to do that. I am sure I will have come to some decision by the end of my — visit."

Parsons nodded. "Of course. And you know what? I'll waive the entrance fee for you. Just this once, you understand."

"That is very — generous of you," Severus said.

The American slapped him on the back. "No problem. Let me know what you think of our pets, all right?"

Taking a chance and a deep breath that was imperceptible to Parsons, Severus asked, "I know you said the werewolf exhibit is closed, but is there a chance I can see the werewolf?"

The man hesitated, "No, I don't think that's possible. He really had a bad transformation this last time, and he's not been well since."

"He's not sick, is he? That might affect —"

"No, no. He just ripped himself up pretty good."

_Locked in a cage with humans watching him from just outside his reach? Yes, a werewolf would have little choice…_

"— another time, though," Parsons was saying. "I'll be sure to introduce you."

Severus nodded curtly and let the other man steer him through the flaps and into the tent.

The smells of sawdust, dirt, fur, and feathers made his nose twitch. He had never been one for magical creatures. They were dirty and smelly, or at least most them were. And if they weren't sneaky, they were dangerous.

Still, even from his jaded perspective, the winged foal was, for lack of a better word, _cute,_ and the clabbert gave him such a cheeky grin as he walked by, that he almost returned it before he could stop himself.

There were many other animals and he was impressed at how well they seemed to be faring, locked as they were in these cages. From his quick glances, they seemed to be well-fed and contented. Whoever had been tending these animals knew what they were doing, obviously.

He neared the far end of the tent, but before he got there, he heard sounds that he'd heard only once before and hoped never to hear again. His eyes focused on a box-like contraption attached to the last cage on the right. A television, he realized, stopping in front of it.

Outwardly impassive, he watched the werewolf attack the bars and itself. Inwardly, however, he flinched at every snarl and bite. He crossed his arms in front of his chest as he closely watched the beast return to its human form. Was it Lupin? The shadows made it nearly impossible to tell…

The man on the screen raised his head, a quick movement that only lasted a second, and the light hit him brutally across the face making him flinch away. But Severus had seen a cheekbone, the flash of a blue eye, and the shape of a nose that was familiar.

_Damn._

Behind the television were panels of wood that Severus assumed covered bars, like the rest of the exhibits. But behind those bars … was Lupin.

A young couple came up beside him to watch the tape, which had started playing again. They made several derogatory remarks about the werewolf, though Severus wondered how many of their comments were made out of bravado, rather than outright scorn. After watching the transformation twice, they went on, giving Snape several discomfited glances. Yes, he supposed that looming around the werewolf's cage, watching that tape over and over might be considered odd. It certainly wasn't something he _wanted_ to be doing.

Finally the couple moved further away so that Severus could act. He had been inspecting the wood panels and could tell where the doorway was. He stepped forward and ran his hand over the wood. Yes, there were hinges at the top and bottom of the smaller panel, but they had been enchanted to be invisible. So if there were hinges on this side, there had to be door handle or a latch….

He glanced around to make sure no one was near. "_Finite incantatem_," he whispered, with a quick flick of his hand. Sometimes he could do this without a wand, if the original spell was simple enough.

A simple iron handle appeared, as did the hinges — and a small window.

Heart thumping, he put his eye up to the window.

Lights from outside shone against the far tent wall, backlighting the bars of the cage — but not much else. Was there something on the floor? He couldn't tell.

Severus pulled on the door handle, and it came open easily enough. Behind it, however, was the cage door. He was about to open the lock when the thought suddenly struck him that the door might be warded against intrusion, or more likely, against Lupin getting out.

He took his wand out of his pocket and another look around, and whispered a quick charm with a wide-sweeping arching movement. A green light seemed to settle over the door, but he could see red threads overhead and around the outside bars of the cage. No wards to keep anyone in or out of the cage or to warn if someone went through the door, but there were some kinds of wards around the entire tent. Well, he'd deal with those in a bit.

A simple "_Alohomora!_" unlocked the door, and it swung open. He made certain he pulled the wooden door shut as he went through it, hoping no one would bother the hinges and the handle that were now visible.

Already, he knew he was not alone. He could hear the quick and labored breathing of someone — or something. The strong stench of urine and vomit couldn't mask the sweeter but nastier smell of a wound rife with infection.

"_Lumos!_" he snapped.

The werewolf — _is it him? — _was lying on his right side, with his back to Severus. The Potions master went to peer over the man's shoulder. He stared for a long moment, realizing that the scraggly beard and the bruises couldn't conceal the fact that the profile was the same on the tape.

"Lupin," he whispered.

The man didn't move.

Severus went around and knelt in front of Lupin, letting his eyes sweep down along the werewolf's form. A blanket covered him from his naked chest to halfway down his denim-clad legs.

"You reek, Lupin," Snape commented, reaching out to touch the other man's face. The skin under the unwashed brown hair was hot, even though his body was shaking with chills.

He wanted nothing more than to just pull Lupin up and Apparate out of here, but he wasn't sure what injuries the werewolf had. Not wanting to touch the grungy, stained blanket, he flicked his wand at it. "_Evanesco_." The blanket vanished. It was too disgusting to take with them, and if Lupin needed a blanket that badly, Severus would conjure one. Lupin shivered even more violently.

There were a few wounds on the man's arms and torso that Severus knew had to be caused by claws or teeth, but so far, he couldn't see anything that wouldn't have been healed fairly easily. But what was under the bandages around the werewolf's belly? He carefully eased Lupin onto his back. The man inhaled sharply then moaned. His forehead furrowed in pain and he moved his left arm so it pressed against the bandages.

"No," Severus said quietly. He gently placed Lupin's arm at his side then muttered a quick charm to sever the strips of white cloth. The werewolf shuddered and again groaned.

It was a nasty wound — caused by something sharp that had ripped across Lupin's belly, but there was only one gash and it wasn't jagged, so it couldn't have been caused by claws. The skin around the wound was red, hot, and swollen, but Severus knew already that this wasn't the main source of the worst smell of infection. A quick spell created more bandages that wrapped themselves around Lupin. It wasn't much, but it would be enough until they got out of here.

He suddenly noticed that Lupin's right hand was swaddled in cloth. He reached for it but decided against examining it. Whatever was wrong with Lupin's hand couldn't be bad enough to keep them from Apparating.

Lupin suddenly started breathing harder and faster and he whimpered, sounding remarkably similar to a small child — or a small puppy.

Severus reached over and laid his hand on Lupin's forehead. "Settle," he said gently.

The werewolf's eyes fluttered open and he stared at Snape with no sign of recognition.

"It will be all right," Severus said.

Lupin's chapped lips moved, but no sound emerged.

"I don't suppose you are in any kind of shape to tell me where it hurts exactly, are you?" Snape asked.

The werewolf again pressed his arm to the wound across his abdomen, but began to fitfully turn his head from one side to the other, while muttering something that Severus couldn't understand. He bent his right leg and seemed ready to try to push himself over onto his left side, but the Potions professor stopped him by pressing gently on his knee.

Again Lupin mumbled something of which Severus heard part.

_What? Something Bert? Who is Bert?_

Shaking his head, because he supposed it didn't really matter, Severus eyed the blue jeans that Lupin was wearing. There didn't seem to be any bloodstains or tears that might indicate an injury…

And then he saw the chain. It was attached to the bars and Snape's gaze followed it to Lupin's left ankle.

_Silver! _He shoved the werewolf's right leg down and tugged at the left leg of his jeans, ignoring the soft cry of pain the man uttered.

He was so horrified that he couldn't even think of an adequate swear word.

The silver cuff around Lupin's ankle had seared through the layers of skin and muscle so that bone was visible in one spot among the oozing pus. Red lines streaked up his leg and down his foot. Heart in his mouth, Severus put his hand on Lupin's foot, cursing at the lack of warmth. If he didn't get Lupin out of here and get him treatment _now_, the werewolf would lose that foot for sure.

"_Relashio," _he snapped. The silver cuff fell away from Lupin's leg. Severus gingerly worked it out from under the other man's leg and tossed it away from them.

The werewolf let out a shuddering groan of relief. Almost immediately, however, he winced as the fire caused by the presence of the silver receded, allowing fresh agony from the actual wound and infection course through him.

"…Libertas… _Clementia_..." Lupin panted.

Severus leaned closer to hear the man's words. Freedom? Mercy? He couldn't help saying, "Lupin, if you insist on talking, at least attempt to make some bit of sense, would you?"

The werewolf's left hand suddenly came up and grabbed the front of Snape's robes in a firm grip that no one could have imagined. The blue eyes blazed with pain and fever — and something akin to madness. "Help me… go… with Libertas," he managed to say between gasping inhalations.

Severus stared at him. Was Libertas a person? Because to say 'Help me go with _freedom_' made absolutely no sense. "Where did Libertas — go?" he asked carefully.

There was a flash of fear in Lupin's eyes, but then the firmness returned. "…_Clementia_…"

"Mercy?" whispered Severus. And then he understood what the wounded man was asking of him.

He stared at Lupin, utterly aghast. "You are out of your mind. It must be the pain," he decided. "You will be fine as soon as we Disapparate out of here."

Lupin groaned with frustration and released the other man's robes. "Can't."

Severus brushed absently at them then stood up. "I'll help you up, and —"

"Can't," Lupin repeated, closing his eyes. "Wards."

It took Severus a moment to put Lupin's words together with the red threads he had seen when he had cast the ward-revealing charm earlier. "There are Anti-Apparition wards over the tent?"

But the werewolf was already sinking back into unconsciousness.

_Now what?_

The first thing to do was to establish that Lupin knew what he was talking about. In his fevered state, he might not even be right. Severus would try Disapparating just into the corridor, to see if he could at least do that…

He couldn't. And no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't Disapparate anywhere else, either. Lupin was right.

Severus knelt by the werewolf's side and again touched his face. Was it his imagination, or was Lupin even hotter? And was it the subtle blue tones to the light at the tip of his wand that made Lupin's skin look so grey?

He had to get the werewolf out of here and he was running out of time. Bill Parsons was going to realize at any minute that he hadn't come out of the tent, and it would just require a quick walk down through the tent, and an even quicker glance at the handle and hinges that were now visible…

Focusing on a singularly happy moment in his life — a moment involving a red-haired girl who he would have done anything for, and _had_ — he conjured a Patronus, whispering a quick message…

**8:57 p.m.**

Albus Dumbledore settled back in his chair and sipped at his glass of wine, a long finger marking where he had been reading.

Fawkes squawked from his perch, and the Headmaster smiled at him. He might have spoken to the bird, but at that moment, a silver streak flew in through the open window. He watched it form into the shape of a doe and prance lightly around his office. It finally stopped in front of his desk, and whispered the astonishing words: "I've found Lupin. Come to Bentley & Parsons' Carnival immediately."

**I'm out of hiding, but you're still not going to throw anything at me, right?**


	14. Chapter 13:Removal from Harm

A/N: SortingHat47 (Elizabeth), your advice and suggestions are like gold, and I very much appreciate them. Zarathustra, thanks again for doing the 'beta-thing.'

If you haven't yet found remuslives23's "Too Old, Too Dangerous," you must read it. And don't let her tell you she can't write action sequences. She lies like a rug.

Disclaimer: Remus is not mine. Crud. Neither are Snape, Dumbledore, and Moody.

**Ch****apter 13: Removal from Harm**

**6 September, 1985—9:05 p.m.**

Severus pulled the blanket he had conjured up around Lupin's shoulders and then sat back on his heels, watching the other man fight for every breath, for every additional minute of his life.

Who would have guessed he'd be in this position, trying to save _Lupin_?

The werewolf was growing restless again. His left arm stole across the top of the blanket and then gripped the blanket tightly.

"Calm yourself, Lupin," Snape said as reassuringly as possible, though he could hear the tension in his own voice. "The Headmaster is coming." He laid his hand on top of Lupin's left one. That reminded him of the cloth wrapped around the other man's right hand. While he waited for Dumbledore, he would take the time to look at whatever injury the cloth was hiding.

Remus didn't know which was worse: the pain that set him on fire or the cold that pierced his bones. He was vaguely aware someone was nearby, but he didn't know — or care — who it was. He just wanted for the pain to go away, and for the chill to subside.

He also wanted James and Lily to stop whispering to him to hold on, to be strong. Couldn't they understand he just wanted it all to end?

And then a new agony created a brilliant white flash behind his closed eyelids and he struggled for enough breath to scream…

Severus stared in horror at what had once been long and graceful fingers, but was now a twisted, swollen mass of bloody flesh. "What in the name of —?" His whispered exclamation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the door.

The Potions professor stood quickly, ignoring the sobbing breaths of the werewolf at his feet, hoping fervently that he'd see Albus Dumbledore.

He was disappointed.

"What in the hell are you doing in here?" Bill Parsons demanded angrily.

Snape had become a spy to save Lily Evans. He had become an _accomplished _spy because of his ability to think quickly and to lie well. "I was curious," he said, hoping he sounded calmer than what his sweaty palms and beating heart said he was. "I wanted to verify that the beast wasn't ill — that the blood was not contaminated by some sort of — sickness. I did not think it wise to commit twenty Galleons without seeing for myself."

"You broke the spells on the door!"

"Yes." There was nothing that Severus could do but admit that. However, he could… "And a — quaint enchantment it was, too," he said, sneering. He looked down at the werewolf, who was still writhing with pain. "I am quite distressed at the condition of this — thing." He shook his head. "It's in very poor condition."

"I told you he had a hard transformation."

Severus reached down to pull the blanket away from Lupin's left leg and pointed to the werewolf's ankle. "That had nothing to do with the full moon. That infection was caused solely by silver. You cannot expect me to pay twenty Galleons for blood that is contaminated by an infection."

Bill Parsons shook his head. "That infection started a few days after the transformation. The blood was drawn at the full moon. There's nothing wrong with it."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And how am I to believe that, considering this thing's condition?" He tapped the werewolf in the hip with the toe of his shoe.

"Look, that —" the American motioned to the infected ankle, "— happened five days after the full moon —"

"Five days after the full moon?" Severus repeated. He did some quick mental calculations. "That was only two days ago."

"Yeah, so like I said, the blood we collected is fine. It's perfect for anything that you'd want it for."

Snape bent and pushed the denim further up the werewolf's leg. Two days, and the infection was this advanced? Lupin was in more danger than he'd originally thought. He needed to come up with some way to get the werewolf out of here. "Are you going to put this thing out of its misery?" he asked harshly.

It was Parsons' turn to prod the werewolf with the sharp toe of his boot, though he did it less gently than Severus. Lupin groaned and shivered violently.

"Did you conjure that blanket?" the carnival owner suddenly asked.

"I did," Snape replied. He inhaled deeply, instantly regretting it because of the rankness in the air, but he had suddenly thought of an idea. "I'll offer you twenty Galleons for it."

"For the blanket?" Parsons asked, confused.

"No. The werewolf."

The American looked from him to Lupin. "What?"

"It is obviously dying," Severus said with a careless shrug. "You are not going to get any more blood out of it, because the blood will be contaminated."

He saw the predatory gleam in Parsons' eye brighten. "What's in it for you? You can't use the blood any more than I can, and only the fur is worth anything, so shaving him won't get you anything."

Snape hesitated, as if he was reluctant to tell Parsons why he really wanted the werewolf. In truth, he was a bit wary to say much more, because the last thing he wanted to do was to have to haggle over _Lupin_. "A werewolf's bones are reported to have special — qualities," he said. "I have only seen two or three potions that require such a thing, but as you can imagine, a werewolf's bones are much more difficult to procure."

The carnival owner was looking at Lupin as if he were calculating how much every bone within the werewolf's body was worth. "If werewolf bones are so rare," he said slowly, "maybe I should consider some other options. How about twenty Galleons for the bones in his leg?"

"Do not get greedy, Parsons," Severus admonished him. "There are very few people who would have the desire or the need to concoct a potion with werewolf bone, and even fewer who would have the skill."

"It's not greed: it's pure logic," the other man said. "If I can find even one person in the next couple of days to buy the other leg — even a foot — for twenty Galleons, I'll have doubled what you just offered me for him."

Snape stooped and ran a hand along Lupin's right arm, stopping at the wrist. "Thirty Galleons, then," he said, straightening. "The bones in that hand are worthless."

"Eighty," Parsons shot back immediately. "He's got a lot of other bones."

"Thirty-five."

"Seventy."

"Thirty-seven."

The American made a scoffing sound. "Come on, buddy. Thirty-seven?"

"He's going to be dead within two days," Severus pointed out. "Do you want to deal with the Ministry should they find out you had a werewolf here and he died?"

The carnival owner obviously hadn't thought of that. "And you're willing to take on that — responsibility?"

Severus allowed himself a satisfied smile. "I have become quite adept at hiding things from the Ministry."

Parsons regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then said, "Make it forty-five, but give me ten of the bones, and you've got a deal."

Snape pretended to consider it. "Done," he said. He held out his hand which the American shook firmly.

"You're responsible for getting him out of here," Parsons said.

"Of course."

Before anything else could be said, Albus Dumbledore stepped into the cage. He glanced quickly between Snape and Parsons; and then his gaze fell on Lupin. It only took him three strides to reach the werewolf's side and kneel beside him.

"Hey!" the American exclaimed. "You're not allowed in here!"

The Headmaster ignored him. He laid a hand on Remus' forehead and looked up at Severus. "How badly is he injured?"

The Potions professor could see no benefit in equivocation. "He is dying," he said flatly.

Dumbledore rose and turned to face Parsons. "Are you responsible for this?"

"Responsible for what?" the carnival owner asked. "He had a rough time at the last —" He stopped and gulped loudly, but didn't take his eyes away from Dumbledore's. It was almost as if he couldn't.

"You are lying," the Headmaster said. "Are you also responsible for that dreadful thing out there?" He motioned to where they knew the television to be.

"Hey, _he_ never said he was upset about —"

"I am not interested in excuses or explanations!" Severus Snape had rarely heard Dumbledore so angry. His voice thundered in the small space and even Lupin winced at its intensity. "You have kidnapped and exploited an innocent man, and there is nothing you can say that will make me believe otherwise!"

Bill Parsons blanched, but spoke up. "We may have paid good money for him," he jerked his chin in the werewolf's direction, "but he had chances to leave, and didn't take them."

"It might have been difficult for him to leave when you had him chained with silver to the bars," Severus said quietly.

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look and he pointed to Remus' ankle.

Parsons started to turn, but the Headmaster grabbed his arm. "You are going nowhere. Severus, can you get Remus to St. Mungo's on your own? Tell them I will be responsible for him."

"Of course," Snape said, pulling out his wand.

"We had a deal!" the carnival owner shouted. "We shook on it!"

Dumbledore glanced at Severus. The younger man shrugged. "I offered him forty-five Galleons for a dying werewolf."

The Headmaster again turned to the American. "You would diminish the life of a man to a matter of Galleons, purchasing and selling him without regard to his true value. You disgust me."

Severus Snape had heard that phrase and that tone only once before, and it had been directed at himself. He felt his own knees weaken and wondered how Parsons managed to stay on his feet.

Without another word, Dumbledore conjured a stretcher upon which he levitated Lupin. He tucked the blanket around Lupin's feet as Severus, as gingerly as he could, rewrapped the broken hand.

Parsons had been standing quietly, watching them work, but suddenly made a dash for the door. With an almost negligent wave of his hand, Dumbledore froze him with a _Petrificus_ and the carnival owner crashed to the floor.

As Severus placed Lupin's damaged hand on top of his chest and pulled the blanket up, the werewolf moaned and began to stir weakly.

"No, Remus, stay still," Dumbledore said.

Just as before, when Severus had spoken to the werewolf to calm him, Lupin's eyes flickered open. This time, however, there was recognition. "Headmaster," he said breathlessly.

Dumbledore brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "Everything will be all right now, Remus. Severus and I are getting you out of here."

"Can't…." Lupin stopped and tensed as another wave of pain washed over him.

Dumbledore reached into a pocket of his robes and drew out a piece of paper. "I'll create a Portkey for the two of you," he said to Severus.

"No," mumbled Lupin. "… need me."

Severus looked at the Headmaster, and they both looked at the werewolf.

"Who needs you, Remus?" Dumbledore asked.

Labored and somewhat unintelligible speech followed, of which, between the two of them, Snape and the Headmaster were able to decipher "foal" and "Clabbert."

"Have they been making him take care of the animals here?" Dumbledore asked Severus.

The Potions professor shrugged. "I don't know. The only thing he said before you came was something about someone named Libertas."

Lupin winced loudly at the name and shook his head. "I didn't… want to…"

Again, Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances.

"What didn't you want to do?" Dumbledore asked gently.

The werewolf pulled his left hand from beneath the blanket and clutched at Dumbledore's sleeve. "I didn't want to," he whispered again. "I didn't know… what else… to do." His eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"You did what you had to do then," the Headmaster said soothingly, placing his hand over the werewolf's. "I know you wouldn't have done it if you had any other choice."

"I didn't want to," Remus said pleadingly.

Severus wanted to snap, "Yes, we understand, you didn't want to," but bit his tongue instead.

Dumbledore had been staring intently into the werewolf's eyes, but suddenly looked up and away from both young men. Severus wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the glitter of tears.

After a few seconds, the Headmaster looked back down at Lupin and smiled sadly. "You did the right thing, Remus."

"Libertas…."

"… Is at peace," Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. "Take peace from that."

Lupin didn't quite look convinced.

Severus wanted to ask what they were talking about, but decided against it. They all had their secrets. He wasn't all that certain he wanted to know this one of Lupin's.

Dumbledore fingered the piece of paper in his hand. "I'll be there as soon as I straighten things out here," he said, looking at Severus. "I want to make sure there is nothing left to show that Remus was even here."

"Shouldn't we wait for the Aurors to do that?" Snape asked.

"What are the chances that the Aurors will investigate this?" Dumbledore asked, with uncharacteristic cynicism. "Even Alastor Moody said he doubted he'd be able to charge them with kidnapping. No, this is something the Order needs to do for one of its own."

He again turned his attention to Remus. "Severus will be with you at St. Mungo's. I'll be there soon."

It seemed to take a moment for the information to sink in. Then Lupin whispered, "He hates me."

"No," Dumbledore said, with a smile. He glanced at Severus and then back at werewolf. "He doesn't. He will take care of you until I can."

He pulled out his wand and touched the tip of it to the piece of paper, which Severus could now see was a Chocolate Frog card. "_Portus_," the older wizard muttered.

The card shone blue and trembled in his fingers then slowly returned to its original colors. "This will take you right to St. Mungo's door," Dumbledore said. He carefully disentangled Remus' fingers from his sleeve and held out the card.

Severus wrapped his fingers around the werewolf's and made sure they were both touching the paper. He took one last look at the Headmaster. "We're ready."

"I know you'll take care of him, Severus."

The trust he saw in Dumbledore's eyes made the breath catch in his throat. How could the older wizard believe that when neither one of them — or Lupin, either, for that matter — had been able to take care of the one whom Severus had loved the most?

Before he could think of anything else to say, he felt a jerk behind his navel, and the carnival tent disappeared.

**10:25 p.m.**

The Welcome Witch glanced up at Severus and the stretcher floating beside him. "What's the problem?" she demanded.

"Infection," the Potions master replied. "Blood poisoning. Among other things."

"Caused by potion, spell, or animal?" She stood up and peered at Lupin.

Severus hesitated then smiled tightly. "Precious mineral, actually."

She gave him a look that said that flippancy would not be tolerated.

"He's had a reaction to silver," Severus explained. "He's a werewolf."

She was obviously a woman who had seen it all, because she didn't bat an eyelash at the comment. "You want the first floor then. They're the ones that deal with werewolves, no matter the injury." She sat back down. "I'll let them know you're coming up."

It was quiet on the first floor, but a healer in St. Mungo's lime green, who introduced himself as Renfrith, was waiting when Severus and Lupin emerged from the lift.

"In here," the healer said brusquely, pointing to a small room to his left.

In no time at all, the healer had Lupin stripped of his jeans and bandages, and on an examining table. Severus felt something like pity for the naked werewolf, who was shivering uncontrollably.

"What caused this wound across his abdomen?" Renfrith asked.

"I do not know."

The healer mumbled something under his breath and continued his examination, ignoring Lupin's occasional moans. "How long ago did it happen?"

"My guess is two days ago. I am not certain."

The healer moved down to Lupin's ankle and made a noise of disgust deep in his throat. "This should have been seen to days ago."

"I agree," the Potions professor said.

Renfrith's nose twitched. "Nasty infection," he muttered. A little louder, he said, "That foot may have to come off."

Severus said nothing.

"Look at this!" The healer followed the red streak with a stubby finger until it stopped a mere three inches from the werewolf's groin. "It'll be a bloody miracle if we don't have to take his entire leg off to stop this!"

Severus glanced at the red line, but his attention was caught by blue inking on Lupin's right hip. "What is that?"

The other man saw where his eyes rested. "You've never seen his Werewolf Registry tattoo?"

"No," Severus said. He barely avoided saying, "I have never wanted to see it, and would have been perfectly happy not seeing it now."

The healer continued his examination of Lupin, again reacting with revulsion when he reached the broken hand. "Why wasn't he brought in earlier?" he demanded.

Snape wasn't sure how much either Dumbledore or Lupin would want others to know, so he temporized. "I was just made aware of his situation two hours ago. I did the best I could at bringing him here as quickly as possible."

Renfrith raised an eyebrow. "Well, he may be too far gone to save. I'm warning you of that."

"Oh, yes, that's fair warning," Severus said coldly.

Suddenly, two men crowded into the doorway. Both were wearing Aurors' robes. "Hey, you," the one said, motioning to Snape. "Did you come here by Portkey?"

"Yes, I did," admitted Severus. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but now that they were here, he realized he should have expected to see the Aurors because of the unauthorized Portkey use.

"Then we have some questions for you," the second Auror said.

"Take the questions somewhere else," Renfrith snapped. "I don't want you disturbing me."

Severus took one last look at Lupin who was quiet for the moment. He didn't like leaving Lupin, if only because Dumbledore had charged him with taking care of the werewolf, but he didn't see where he had much choice.

He followed the taller of the two Aurors down the hall to a waiting room. The second Auror, the shorter man, trailed behind them both.

It was the shorter Auror who made the point to introduce himself and his colleague as Fenwick and Wheeler as they seated themselves in hard plastic chairs. They didn't seem to recognize Severus' name until he mentioned that he was a professor at Hogwarts.

Fenwick laughed. "_You're_ the Potions professor! My nephew is a fourth-year Hufflepuff. He's had lots to say about you."

"I do not doubt it," Severus said dryly.

The taller Wheeler cleared his throat, having come to the decision to return this conversation to the reason for their presence there. "Professor Snape, you realize unauthorized Portkey use is punishable by several months in Azkaban."

"Yes, I do," Severus said.

"Then why did you spell one for use?"

"I didn't. It was activated by Albus Dumbledore so that I could bring his — _Lupin_ here for treatment immediately."

"You couldn't have just Apparated?" Fenwick asked. "And used Side-Along Apparition?"

"No," Severus replied. "We were in a place with Anti-Apparition wards. The Headmaster felt that too much time would be lost getting outside those wards to Apparate."

"You really expect us to believe that Albus Dumbledore set up that Portkey for you?" Wheeler asked skeptically.

"Yes, I do," Severus said calmly.

"You know we can check with him."

"I fully expect you to. Using an unauthorized Portkey is very serious."

"Where were you that you were inside Anti-Apparition wards?" Fenwick asked. He sounded more curious than demanding about this entire matter.

Severus inhaled deeply and adjusted the truth slightly. "We were at 'Bentley & Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures' and discovered Remus Lupin was there. He had been reported missing three months ago, and he was — he is — badly injured. So, because of the Anti-Apparition wards, Headmaster Dumbledore set up the Portkey to bring him here for healing."

Wheeler and Fenwick exchanged glances. "Where is Dumbledore now, Professor?" asked Wheeler, a slight sneering emphasis on the title.

"He is still at the carnival," Snape replied. "He said he would be along — soon."

"Another team was sent to where the Portkey originated. We should be hearing from them and then we'll compare your stories. We'll give them fifteen minutes," Wheeler said, checking his watch. "If no one is here by then, we're taking you to the Ministry."

"Fine," snapped Severus. "In the meantime —"

He was interrupted by the sound of a thump and a loud clatter from down the hall — from the direction of where he had left Lupin. He immediately rose and started for the doorway.

Wheeler caught him by the arm. "Where are you going?"

"The Headmaster left Lupin in my care. I am going to see what is happening."

"Let him go, Wheeler. We'll be right behind him," Fenwick coaxed.

The Auror's grip slackened and Severus pulled himself free and walked quickly back up the hall, the two Aurors at his heels.

They froze in the doorway and stared in horrified fascination.

Lupin had fallen off the examining table, knocking over a tray of healers' implements, which had scattered across the tiled floor. He was crawling on his belly toward the far corner of the room, using his good hand and foot to propel himself. A broad smearing of blood from his gut wound trailed after him.

"Where's the blasted healer?" asked Wheeler harshly.

"Go find him," Fenwick ordered. "Try down that way."

Severus assumed the Auror indicated the opposite direction from where they had come, since they hadn't seen the healer pass the waiting room, but didn't look behind him to verify it. His eyes remained fastened on Lupin.

The injured man had reached the corner and was now lying onto his right side, sounding like he had been running for miles and couldn't catch his breath. His arms were bent and crossed in a manner that reminded Severus of something, but he couldn't remember what it was.

He stepped into the room and felt something crunch beneath his foot. With an impatient kick, he sent the instrument skidding across the floor. It crashed into a dustbin on the other side of the room with a dull thud and Lupin flinched.

"Lupin?" Severus moved slowly and deliberately, not wanting to startle the other man. "You should not be on the floor." He knelt down and reached for Lupin's shoulder. At the touch, Lupin's eyes opened and focused on Snape. Immediately, Severus jerked his hand back.

The man's eyes were not his usual blue.

"Oh, bloody boggarts," Severus whispered, his heart skipping several beats.

A hoarse rumble came from the man's throat, and suddenly Severus realized that the crossed arms resembled a dog's front legs and paws — or a wolf's….

The growl trailed off as Lupin fought for breath.

"Here now, what's happening?"

At the sound of the healer's voice, Lupin's head jerked and his lips curled into a definite snarl.

Severus threw a hand up in the air in warning. "Stay where you are," he said softly. "There is a small problem."

"What's —"

"Shut up, you idiotic fool!" hissed the professor, glancing behind him this time to make sure the man could see his anger.

Satisfied by the man's startled expression, Severus returned his attention to the werewolf.

"Lupin."

The man regarded him with amber eyes. Images began to creep into Snape's mind: Lupin knew he was dying, and in a manner typical of animals, was trying to find someplace to curl up and get on with it.

"I can not just let you die," Severus told him. He didn't know if the werewolf understood or not, but hoped it would be comforted by the tone of his voice. "Dumbledore will be here soon. He will set things right."

Lupin closed his eyes as a shudder wracked his body.

"Get the Werewolf Capture Unit," Renfrith said loudly.

"He's a werewolf?" Wheeler took a step back, which put his back against the wall. He sounded panicky.

"There's no need for that," Severus told them, with cool assuredness. "This will pass." He glanced around and saw the blanket he had conjured for Lupin was still tossed carelessly over a chair in the corner. He fetched it and then went back to the werewolf. "Lupin, I'm going to put this blanket over you now."

There was no response from the werewolf. He hoped Lupin understood, otherwise, this could go badly.

He held the blanket up and let the hem of it touch Lupin's skin. The werewolf recoiled at the sensation and opened his eyes. There was apparently some human comprehension still available to Lupin: though he watched Severus closely, he allowed the man to arrange the blanket carefully over him without even a growl.

"You can't just leave him there," Renfrith protested.

"I don't intend to 'just leave him there,'" Severus said, turning to face the healer. "Where were you?"

"I was down the hall, taking a — going to the loo!" The healer's face twisted with anger. "Don't think you're going to blame this on me!"

"If you had been doing your job correctly, there would be nothing to take the blame for," Severus said calmly. "You haven't touched any of his wounds. Why?"

"I was considering a course of treatment."

Severus just stared at him. He had found this an effective tool when dealing with troublesome students. He hoped it worked with troublesome healers as well.

"He's got injuries with major complications," the healer began. "I can't treat him the way I might usually treat other patients because many potions for healing have silver nitrate in them. Not only that, but a lot of the potions we use for pain and sedation are made with processed aconite. I was going to consult with a colleague of mine…"

He babbled on a bit more, but Severus had stopped listening. There had been something in the man's words, something in the tone — and almost without meaning to, he found himself whispering "_Legilimens_!" in his head.

The healer began to stammer and stutter over his words as he found himself reliving actions and thoughts from the time he first laid eyes on Lupin. It took mere seconds for Severus to find what he had been seeking.

"You have done nothing because you think he deserves to die."

The healer's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

"You can not think about denying it," Severus said coldly. "It is obvious."

"Alright, fine!" Renfrith finally snarled. "I won't deny it! But the fact is, he's going to die. There's not much that can be done for him! He's a bloody werewolf! So what if he _does_ die? He would no longer have to deal with the transformations, and the prejudice that comes from being a werewolf. It's actually a kindness!"

Behind him, Severus heard a moan. It sounded distinctly more human than wolf. Slowly he turned and knelt next to Lupin.

How had this happened? How could he be defending the creature — the man — who had almost killed him in their fifth year at Hogwarts? They had been from rival Houses. They had been enemies in the Dark Lord's war. And yet, he was here — because of — what? Dumbledore's trust? Because of Lily's friendship?

He gently pushed the hair out of Lupin's eyes. The man blinked, and Severus was relieved to see that the blue was returning.

"Who would know how to treat him?" he asked, without turning to look at Renfrith.

"I — uh — I don't know."

Severus stood up quickly and turned so quickly that his robes tangled around his legs. It was perhaps the only thing that prevented him from cursing the healer at that moment. When his legs were free, he took two long strides until his long nose was nearly touching Renfrith's.

"I want the name of a healer who can heal this man," he said quietly. "This hospital could not exist with only incompetent healers such as you seem to be. There must be someone who knows alternatives to silver nitrate and aconite. Who is that person?"

"Healer Weimer might know what to do," Renfrith admitted, swallowing hard. "He has worked with werewolves in Germany and Slovakia. He might be able to help."

"_Then get him!" _Severus rarely raised his voice — he rarely needed to. But frustration and anger made his words resound harshly in the small room, making the volume twice what he had intended.

The healer fled.

"Think he'll find that other healer?" Fenwick asked.

"If he doesn't want to find himself at the wrong end of a particularly nasty curse, he had better," Snape replied. He glanced at the clock. The fifteen minutes Wheeler had allowed him were gone, but he wasn't about to point that out.

He dropped tiredly into the chair and rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a headache. He glanced around the room, wondering if there was something for a headache in one of the cupboards or drawers. There probably was, but it more than likely would cost him twice as much as it would from an apothecary.

They heard the chime that accompanied the opening of the lift door. Wheeler peered around the doorjamb. "It's Moody and Garrison," he said.

Severus got to his feet, ready for what he was certain was going to be another round of questioning.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that Albus Dumbledore was with the newly arrived Auror team. While the four Aurors went out into the hallway to discuss the use of the unauthorized Portkey, the Headmaster entered the room and stopped in front of Severus. "Where is Remus?"

Severus pointed without saying a word.

The Headmaster glanced at Lupin and his eyes tracked the bloody smears on the floor. "What happened?" he asked after a long moment.

"The healer left him to die," Severus said. "He fell off the table and then crawled over there to do exactly that."

The older wizard started to move toward the injured werewolf, but Severus stopped him with a gentle touch. "There was a — problem."

Dumbledore's thick eyebrows rose a bit. "Besides the healer leaving him to die?"

The Potions master took a deep breath, not knowing how to word what had happened. "Lupin — wasn't himself." And he deliberately lifted his eyes to Dumbledore's.

He concentrated on Lupin and his amber eyes, pushing all other thoughts aside. The Headmaster hesitated for just a moment and then accepted the images that Severus was giving him.

After a few seconds, the Snape looked away and the older wizard sighed tiredly. "Where is the healer?"

"Hopefully gone to fetch another healer — one who knows what he's doing," Severus commented. "Renfrith did nothing."

Moody suddenly broke away from the pack of Aurors and came into the room. "Where's —?"

Severus again pointed.

The Auror nodded curtly in acknowledgement and went over to look at Remus. It was obvious by the way that he looked first at Lupin's ankle, his hand, and then his belly, that Dumbledore had already outlined the werewolf's injuries. "It's a damned good thing I hadn't seen this boy before we went out to that carnival," he remarked. "I might have been tempted to hex that bastard into next week."

"What you did was effective," Dumbledore said. "I appreciate it and I know Remus will as well."

Severus had to know. "What did you do?"

"We destroyed the tapes," Dumbledore said.

"Melted them then Vanished them!" Moody smiled smugly. "And gave that carnival owner an earful while I did it, too! An earful of earwigs!"

"What about the cards?" Severus asked. "They had postcards with the wolf on them."

Dumbledore lightly placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We got those as well. We got rid of any evidence that Remus was ever there."

"Garrison and I are going to try to get them on kidnapping, but as they didn't do the actual kidnapping, I doubt that will happen," Moody said.

He opened his mouth to say more, but Renfrith suddenly came into the room, a tall, bear-like man trailing him. The man looked like he'd just awakened: he had uncombed hair, stubble darkening his cheeks, and was blinking rapidly in the bright light of the room. He also looked angry. "So. What is it you want from me, that you would wake me and bring me here?" he asked in a heavy German accent.

Dumbledore stepped forward. "Healer Weimer? I'm Albus Dumbledore…."

Suddenly beaming widely, the big man interrupted him, "Herr Dumbledore! I have heard much of you!" He shook hands with the Headmaster with an enthusiasm that Severus was sure had to be painful, though the older wizard gave no such indication. "I have great respect for you," the healer continued. "A great man. To defeat Grindelwald, and to fight against Voldy-mort…."

"Well," Dumbledore said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we all do what we can. And now, I need your help."

"You have a werewolf that needs healing."

"Yes." The Headmaster stepped to the side and motioned toward Remus.

Severus would never have guessed the big man could move so gracefully, and his hands were strong but gentle as they shifted Lupin onto his back and examined the wounds.

"Ach, this is bad," Weimar finally pronounced.

"Can you heal him?" Dumbledore asked.

The healer laid a hand on Lupin's forehead. "We must get rid of the infection before we do the healing," he said, gently prying open one of the werewolf's eyelids and looking for a reaction. "He will need to be a fighter, this werewolf of yours."

"He always has been," Dumbledore affirmed without hesitation.

For just the slightest moment, Severus wanted to swear vehemently at Dumbledore for the praise that the Headmaster was giving to the — _creature_ lying on the floor. But then, unexpectedly, for the second time within a half hour, Severus found himself feeling extremely defensive on the werewolf's part. People had killed themselves upon being cursed with lycanthropy, and Lupin had lived with it for _years_…. And there was the fact that he had lost all of his friends in one 24-hour period of time…. Severus had lost Lily that night, but the murderer, Sirius Black, had hardly been Snape's friend. How much worse could it have been for the werewolf? Things like that would have destroyed someone without a lot of strength. Lupin endured prejudice and Ministry interference…. How could anyone, Snape included, suggest that Lupin _wasn't_ a fighter?

It was important to acknowledge your enemy's strengths, Severus thought. He'd grant Lupin this one.

**Aww, isn't that sweet? Hee hee! **


	15. Chapter 14:Hesitant Step Forward

A/N & Disclaimer: A serious note! GASP!

When I started this story, all I had was the prologue. I wrote the prologue in minutes, and then found myself wondering, "How did Remus end up in this situation? Who is the centaur? How do I get them out of there?" And thus a story began.

Along the way, though, it became apparent that, if I rescued Remus (which, of course, I had to do), he was going to have some major problems. The whole thing with Libertas, for example. Surely, the man couldn't just kill someone who'd been the only friend he could talk to for three months, and then walk away from it without suffering some kind of reaction. So, I started to work out what was going to happen, what might happen, and so forth…

And during this process, my brother, who is a member of the U. S. Army, came home from Iraq after his second tour…

After my brother came home, he became a full-blown alcoholic, became more moody and volatile, and soon, almost before we knew it, had left his wife and children. He told us that he just had nothing inside to give any more. After a month of talking, yelling, coercing, pleading, and begging, he finally decided to seek psychiatric help. He was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—something that many military men develop after difficult tours of duty. Since then, he has received treatment, and is doing much better, for which we are all thankful.

But, as I researched this condition, I soon became aware that what I had envisioned for Remus was basically PTSD. The symptoms for this are all over the internet—and I'd bet a lot of you already know some of what to expect. But, could I get away with having Remus suffer from this? Could I make it believable?

Here's a man with a chronic condition that, because of prejudice and government legislation, makes it nearly impossible to find and keep a job. He becomes, for all intents and purposes, a soldier. He is more than likely trained to kill (remember: he tells Harry in DH: "At least Stun if you aren't prepared to kill!") He has friends and a purpose. And then, suddenly, in one night, it is all taken from him, and the one responsible for these losses is someone he has considered a best friend for ten years. What does a man like our hero do? I don't see how he could get over it in a matter of days, or weeks, or months.

So, jump four years from that point. This man, who is undoubtedly still grieving and angry and frustrated, suddenly finds himself in a situation not of his own making. He's lost his dignity, his pride, his freedom—and now he takes the life of a friend and is deliberately injured because of something that is inherently natural to him (using magic). I think it's likely he'd have some severe psychological problems.

So, I will warn you ahead of time that Remus may, in these next few chapters, seem to be slightly out of character with JKRowling's Remus. Considering what I've put the poor man through, however, I don't see how he could possibly respond any differently. His recovery process is somewhat atypical—I would venture to say the timing is all wrong, and he never does receive professional care from someone knowledgeable in PTSD. And keep in mind, he's twenty-five years of age, not thirty-three, as we see him in PoA. Eight years can make a huge difference; trust me! But he's got people who are very willing to help him—if he'll only accept it…

**Chapter ****14: A Hesitant Step Forward**

**Saturday, 7 September, 1985—2:05 p.m.**

"Moony."

_No. Leave me alone._

"Moony, listen to me."

"No."

"Remus, please, you have to—"

_I _don't_ have to. You're not _here_. You can't _make_ me._

There was a familiar chuckle. "Gods, Moony, you're as stubborn as ever."

"Go 'way, James."

A feminine voice this time: "Remus—"

_Not you, too, Lily. Please. It _"…hurts_._"

"I know, love. But you can get through this."

_Maybe I just…_" …don't want to."

"How can you watch out for Harry for us, if you give up?"

Feelings of guilt washed over him.

The voice of Prongs returned. "Who else will take care of Padfoot?"

"Sirius. Can't… think… of Sirius."

"He loved us, Moony. He wouldn't have betrayed us."

_But he did, he did, he DID. He took you away from Harry. He took you away from me…_

Lily's voice was calm and soothing, and he could almost feel her cool hand on his forehead. "You can do this, Remus. It hurts. I know. But you're strong. You're brave. And we'll be with you. We're always with you."

He couldn't help the sob that escaped. "Lily… I can't."

"You can." Her whisper was firm and unyielding.

"You can." James echoed, equally uncompromising.

And she and Prongs were gone before he could ask them how…

The apprentice healer who was checking Remus' vital signs looked over at Moody, who had stationed himself near the injured man's head. "Who's he talking to?" she asked.

Moody's face could have been carved from stone. "The dead."

**8:14 p.m.**

He let the hands do whatever they wanted. He couldn't have fought them if he wanted to. He did have to admit that the firm but gentle bathing they gave him did make him feel more — human. He kept his eyes closed throughout the bath, however, and while they charmed off the beard. He wished they had used a blade for that. The feel of the sharp metal against his jaw and throat while he was in this state of helplessness would have been frightening, but the pain was starting to return again, strong and demanding. It made the possibility of the blade slipping a pleasant thought.

The two people who were taking care of him seemed to notice his distress. Before long, his jaws were forced open, and some kind of thick liquid was poured down his throat. It burned going down, but almost immediately, he began to feel the edge of the pain begin to dull. He gave a long exhalation, and then felt someone pat him on the arm.

"That's a dear," the woman crooned.

"Healer Weimer wants us to give him that potion now, too," said the man.

"Let's wait until we get him settled into bed," the woman suggested. "He should be comfortable for that."

They levitated him back into his bed, and he groaned as his hand bumped the edge of the little table next to the bed, sending him nearly to the brink of unconsciousness again.

"Sorry, dearie," the woman apologized.

"You know he may not even be able to hear you, Lucretia."

"But he may," she insisted. "Do you want to give him the injection, or should I?"

_Injection?_ That word stirred something in Remus's memory — something unpleasant. He forced his eyes open.

"Oh, look who's awake!" the woman said. She was pretty, with dark brown hair and brown eyes which sparkled at him.

But over her shoulder, Remus saw the man — and the syringe in his hands…

The werewolf's heart began to beat more rapidly. "No," he moaned hoarsely. "Don't."

The woman smiled at him. "It's all right, Mr. Lupin. It's to help you —"

The man took a step toward the bed, and Remus went deaf to the Lucretia's words. His attention was completely focused on the needle, and all he could think of was Bill Parsons…

He slid over to the edge of the bed, as far as he could without falling off.

Lucretia was still prattling on, trying to calm him, trying to make him accept the needle.

But the man reached across the bed for him — and something deep in Remus's mind erupted…

**9:46 p.m.**

As Dumbledore passed the Welcome Witch, intending to go straight to the fourth floor, the plump woman was having a rather heated discussion with a man whose face was striped blue and purple.

"No, you cannot just have a potion to reverse the spell. A healer must examine you and determine if — Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster turned to look at her, smiling as he did. He had learned long ago that these busy and very important women had a thankless job dealing with angry and frightened people, and he always tried to treat them with the utmost respect. "Yes, dear woman, how can I help you?"

She looked faintly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Healer Weimer asked me to send you directly to his office when you came by. You'll find him on the fourth floor. When you get off the lift, just —"

Dumbledore nodded and held up a hand to stop her. "I know exactly where to go. Thank you very much."

She gave him a quick smile then turned back to the man with the striped face. "Now, _you _— a healer has to make certain that you aren't contagious…"

As the Headmaster went around the corner and down the hallway, the witch's voice faded behind him. He didn't think he would ever want the job of Welcome Witch. It seemed so full of tension. And yet, there were people that told him that they thought his position was stressful. "But it's so full of joy and endless possibilities," he would say. The creativity of the students was so _inspiring_; how could anyone _not_ love it?

The lift door opened, and he turned immediately turned to the left and went all the way to the end of the hallway. The door to Healer Weimer's office was ajar, and Dumbledore rapped lightly at it before peeking in.

The large man looked up then rose quickly to his feet. "_Herr_ Dumbledore! _Herein_! _Bitte _—Please! Have a seat!" He motioned with the quill in his hand to a simple wooden chair that had a thickly padded seat.

Dumbledore smiled. "I hope you don't mind an old man's indulgences —" and transfigured the chair into a large, overstuffed armchair.

The healer chuckled and waited for Dumbledore to seat himself before retaking his own place.

"I received your message. How is Remus?" the Headmaster asked, getting immediately to the point.

Weimer hesitated then sat back, folding his hands and resting them on his substantial stomach. "We have administered an antidote for the silver that entered his bloodstream. We have been treating his wounds with a number of potions that should fight the infection and the pain. Our staff were even able to bathe him and get rid of the beard. Auror Moody seemed to think it was something that needed to be done," the healer said with a smile. "_Herr_ Lupin seemed to be resting — easier.

"One of my apprentices even noted that the infection had become — less. The red marks on his leg —?" Weimer made a motion that indicated the lines that had almost reached Remus' groin had receded a few inches.

"Yes, I understand."

"I felt, however, that he might benefit from a stronger course of action," Weimer said. "I decided to use what is called an 'antibiotic.' Have you knowledge of this?" At the Headmaster's nod, Weimer continued. "It fights the source of infection, and it can be injected. I have found that the Muggles have an effective method of doing so, using one of these." He reached into a drawer and placed an empty syringe on his desk.

The older wizard nodded again. "Of course."

"Apparently, your werewolf knows what this is as well," the healer said, with a sardonic smile. "And it has not been a good experience, judging by his reaction."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lowered and he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "What happened?"

"He panicked, and his reaction —" Weimer shook his head. "Well, I was actually hoping you could help us — and him." He stood up. "Let me show you."

He led the Headmaster nearly to the opposite end of the hall to a set of double metal doors set into the wall on the right. Painted and printed warnings on the doors warned that it was a werewolf containment area, and that unauthorized personnel were not permitted beyond that point.

"Was this necessary?" Dumbledore asked, already not liking this.

Weimer nodded, and touched the door with his wand. As the locks clicked open, he said, "_Ja_. You will see."

They went through the door, and Dumbledore glanced around as Weimer relocked the door. They were in a small hallway, with three rooms on each side. Only one door was closed. It was made of heavy steel and painted the ugliest green the older wizard had ever seen. Warnings told the reader not to enter the room six hours before or six hours after the full moon.

Again Weimer touched the door with his wand to unlock it. Dumbledore heard four distinct clicks. But, before he pushed the door open, the healer turned to the Headmaster. "I must warn you, _Herr_ Dumbledore, that this may not be — pleasant."

The Headmaster made a graceful motion toward the door, and Weimer opened it with a flick of his wand.

This ward had been built for the specific purpose of containing any werewolf patients who happened to be there during the full moon. There was no furniture, no ornamentation, no decoration — only bare concrete walls and floor. In fact, the only thing in the room was a green woolen lump crowded into the corner to the right of the door. Only the sound of harsh breathing gave any clue that a living being was beneath the material.

Weimer walked cautiously over to it and hesitated for just a moment before bending down and pulling the blanket back. He motioned for Dumbledore to come closer.

Remus was lying on his right side, his face sheltered between his forearms. Dumbledore noticed that the stiff bandages around the werewolf's right hand were bloody, and some of it was fresh. He knelt beside Weimer and gently pulled Remus' left arm down and away from his face. His fingers brushed the younger man's cheek as he did, and he could feel the heat of fever.

"He turned wolf on us. Not the actual wolf-form, but in his mind," Weimer said quietly. "He became uncontrollable. We were forced to bring him in here so he could not harm himself further."

Dumbledore sighed. "I told them you were a fighter, Remus. I had hoped you'd be fighting the fever and the infection, not the staff." He looked at Weimer. "Obviously such a — strong — reaction is not — normal."

"It is _der Extremfall _— an extreme case, but not — uncommon." The healer seemed to be grasping for the right words. "It is not unexpected. He has been through much. He has been _traumatisiert_, if you understand."

"Yes, yes. I am sure," Dumbledore said quietly. He carefully touched a large red bruise next to Remus' left eye.

"There is another —" The healer indicated an area on his own jaw to the right. "He fell from the bed, and then a chair fell on him."

Dumbledore's fingers combed, just once, through the sweat-matted hair above Remus' ear. He was surprised to see silver strands of hair mixed with the brown. Though, he reflected, he probably shouldn't be, considering the brutal transformation process that made a werewolf's body age quicker than most others'. "What would you have me do?"

"Calm him," Weimer said simply. "We are trying to heal him; help him see this."

He laid his large hand briefly on Remus' bare shoulder then took his leave.

Dumbledore sat for several minutes just looking at Remus. With the beard gone, the younger man looked more as he had three months ago. He was thinner, though, which made his bones stick out more sharply. His fears were much sharper than they were three months ago as well.

_Three months is all it takes to reduce an intelligent, talented young man to an animal. _

Dumbledore closed his eyes at the thought. He found himself remembering the first time he had seen Remus Lupin. Remus had been ten years old at the time; pale, thin, and extremely serious. But during the quick talk they'd had, Dumbledore had seen the intelligence and the quick wit — and the half-smile that meant Remus was either amused or being self-deprecating. There had been no hesitation in Dumbledore's mind that the young werewolf should have a spot at Hogwarts.

As there had been no hesitation that he wanted Remus in the Order.

So where had he failed Remus? _Had_ he failed Remus? Moody's words in June still rankled. Dumbledore had provided the boy with an education, had given him a purpose right after school in the Order, and had helped steer employment his way. Yes, he supposed he had helped Remus to isolate himself. But what else could be done? The war was over, the young man's friends were gone, his parents dead — and Remus suddenly found himself scrutinized and interrogated as the best friend of notorious killer, Sirius Black, and the only surviving friend of the Potters and Peter Pettigrew.

Remus had felt hounded by reporters, Aurors, and those who wondered: _had he been part of the plan to betray the Potters? Had he known what Sirius Black was planning? _Eyes followed him everywhere he went, he had confessed to Dumbledore one rainy night when they had met at the Leaky Cauldron, completely by chance. The Headmaster knew it wasn't just the near-drunken ramblings of a paranoid fool: he had seen heads turn toward them as they talked. He had heard the whispers. And judging by the brightness of the blue eyes and the tension in the jaw that no amount of firewhiskey could ease, Remus had heard them, too. And more besides.

What else could Dumbledore do at the time, but arrange an apprenticeship with a researcher far enough away that no one would hear the name 'Remus Lupin' — and wonder…

_We all do what we must, Alastor. I cannot believe I did the wrong thing. If I hadn't sent him away, he'd have been dead in months. Weeks, perhaps._

He could almost hear Moody's growl: "Instead of nearly dead now?"

With a sigh, the Headmaster gathered his thoughts together and said, "Remus," but there was no response. He repeated the younger man's name several times, before there was finally a response: a slight lowering of the werewolf's eyebrows, which reminded Dumbledore of the look of concentration that Remus sometimes wore.

"Remus, come back," he said firmly, but gently. "It's time to wake up."

It was a long moment, but slowly, Remus' eyes opened.

"Hello, Remus." Dumbledore smiled at him, and took the younger man's uninjured hand between his.

Confusion was apparent on the werewolf's face as he moved his head slightly so he could see the older wizard with both eyes. "H-Head-Headmas— " He broke off, coughing, and then spent several minutes trying to get his breath.

Dumbledore laid a calming hand on the younger man's shoulder, speaking soft, comforting words, and trying to relax him as much as was possible, considering the amount of pain he was obviously in.

Once the coughing fit had subsided, the Headmaster again took Remus' hand in his and said, "It's going to be all right."

Before he could say any more, Remus' blue eyes met his, and the werewolf whispered, "Headmaster?" as if trying to verify that it was really Dumbledore.

"Yes, Remus, it is me."

There was the barest of whispers: "Safe —?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, it is safe."

Remus frowned and shook his head just once, swallowing hard. Then, with his eyes intently fastened on the Headmaster's, he asked, "— to die now?"

Dumbledore's smile faded. "No, Remus. You can't die now. We need you here."

A look of betrayal appeared in the werewolf's eyes and Dumbledore almost winced. "They — don't want me — either."

Though he feared the answer, the Headmaster had an idea of what to expect when he asked, "Who doesn't want you, my boy?"

"James and — Lily."

Alastor Moody had mentioned Remus' mutterings. The two men had both known it to happen: someone terribly injured, desperately ill, or otherwise presumably at the end of their life speaking to people who no longer inhabited this world. On rare occasions, those people recovered.

Neither Moody nor Dumbledore wanted to guess whether Remus was going to be one of those lucky few who pulled through.

"It isn't your time yet, Remus," the Headmaster said. "James and Lily know this. When it's your time to go to them, they'll be waiting. But it isn't your time."

"It hurts," Remus whimpered.

"I'm sure it does. But the healers have potions and things to help with that. You have to trust them."

The werewolf shuddered and closed his eyes.

"Healer Weimer said that you lost control of yourself, Remus. What happened?"

"I can't…"

"Tell me." Dumbledore kept his voice gentle, but spoke firmly.

He could feel Remus' distress in the increasingly violent trembling of the younger man's body, and the tightening grip on his hand.

"Is it so terribly bad that you can't tell me what happened?" Dumbledore asked in the same quiet tone.

Remus seemed to shrink into the blankets.

The Headmaster waited a full minute but still received no verbal response. Finally, he laid his hand on Remus' shoulder. "I know it's difficult. But we're only trying to help you get better."

A light sheen of sweat stood out on the younger man's face. Then, very quietly, barely more than a breath: "No needles."

Dumbledore considered all of the things he could say to Remus, and then finally said the most truthful thing that he felt the younger man could accept. "I can't promise that. But, if Healer Weimer needs to use one of those needles, I will be here with you."

The blue eyes opened and seemed to search his intently. By the look of doubt on the younger wizard's face, he was searching the Headmaster's eyes for some trace of sincerity, some reason to believe and trust the older man's words.

Images suddenly began to skate through Dumbledore's mind: Bill Parsons, with a syringe in his hand; an Erumpent; a hippogriff. There was the quickest flash of a centaur, and guilt flooded through the link between the two wizards. There would come a time when the Headmaster would have to confront Remus about the centaur — who he knew was dead — and the werewolf's plea that he 'didn't want to do it.' But for now, there was enough to deal with: the images were becoming more intense, more frightening. It wouldn't have been difficult for someone just barely skilled in Legilimency to know that Remus had been physically restrained and then injected… But with _what_?

Dumbledore drew in a deep breath. Sometimes one just had to ask to get the answers one needed. Keeping his eyes fastened on the younger man's, he asked, "Remus, what was in the syringes that Parsons used on you?"

Fear. Fear so intense and immediate that it would have probably brought Albus to his knees if he hadn't already been on the floor. The werewolf's eyes snapped shut and the link abruptly ended. Outside the door, a bell chimed — Dumbledore recognized it as a warning charm that told of an extreme change in a patient's condition.

The door flew open and Weimer rushed in. "What has happened?"

"I asked him about the syringes." Dumbledore shifted to give the healer room to kneel next to his patient. "Remus, open your eyes. Look at me."

Weimer reached for Remus' wrist, but the werewolf jerked his arm away and opened his eyes. "_Verdammt_!" the healer snapped.

The older wizard glimpsed the golden tone that seemed to glitter among the blue.

The werewolf shook his head quickly, as if he was trying to clear it. Then, very slowly, seemingly against his will, he shifted his gaze from Weimer's face to Dumbledore's.

"Remus, calm yourself. Remember who you are." The Headmaster placed his hand on top of the younger man's. "Take _control_, Remus."

The werewolf's eyes darted away, slid past Weimer, and focused on the door. Dumbledore felt the tension in the muscles rising and knew what the younger man was thinking. "The door!" he said to Weimer urgently.

The Healer turned and motioned at the door. It slammed shut.

Remus looked up at Weimer with such a look of hatred and despair that even Dumbledore pulled back quickly. The gold was more obvious now.

"No, Remus, control yourself!" Dumbledore said. "Do not let the wolf control _you_."

Weimer slowly extended his hand, speaking quietly as he did, "I am not going to hurt you, _Herr_ Lupin. I only want to see…" His fingertips touched Remus's wrist. The werewolf watched him warily. "His heart is beating too quickly," the Healer said in a quiet aside to Dumbledore. "And his breathing is not right. If we cannot calm him, we will be forced to sedate him —"

"No!" Dumbledore said forcefully. "Not yet. We can do this. _He_ can do this. Remus, do you hear me? You _must _take back control. Do you understand?"

Remus' eyes again went closed and he grimaced. The two older men watched him closely for a full minute.

"_Herr_ Dumbledore," the Healer began.

"Another minute," the older wizard said sharply.

"I need to go get a Calming Draught," Weimer said. "I think it would be best if you came with me."

"And leave him alone now?" Dumbledore asked incredulously.

"He is not safe — _you_ are not safe while he is like this."

"He is fighting it," Dumbledore pointed out.

Sadness appeared in Weimer's eyes. "He is losing."

The Headmaster bowed his head, hiding his expression of anger from the healer. The healers were already giving up on Remus' ability to control the Darkness inside himself. Dumbledore refused to do the same. He _knew_ how strong Remus' mind was. He _knew_ the young man could do this…

Weimer rose to his feet and stood looking down at Remus for a moment. He cleared his throat. "_Herr_ Dumbledore, I think…" The older wizard's sharp gaze made him halt in mid-sentence. He sighed instead of finishing his thought. "I will be back shortly."

The Headmaster waited until the door had locked behind the healer before reaching down to pull the blanket back up to the younger man's shoulders.

"Oh, my boy," he sighed. "If only there had been some way I could have spared you the past three months." Almost without conscious thought, he laid his hand on Remus' head. The werewolf whimpered softly.

"The Muggles have a saying: 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger,'" Dumbledore said quietly. "If that is the case, you are strong enough to fight the fear, Remus." He smiled. "You are much stronger than you know. Certainly more than you give yourself credit for. Can you not believe in yourself? Can you not feel the strength that's within you? Lily and James know it's there. Believe them, if no one else."

The Headmaster waited a moment then said, "Open your eyes, Remus."

"_Remus, what was in the syringes…?"_

Fear, paralyzing and mind-numbing, flooded through him, taking away reason and logic. He could feel his heart pounding so hard that his chest felt as if it was about to explode, and the thumping in his temples made his head ache. The panic made him forget how to breathe, and he gulped in quick breaths that did little to bring oxygen into his body.

And worse yet, he could feel the darkness stealing through him: feral, angry, malicious…

"_Remus, open your eyes. Look at me." _He knew the voice. He knew it was someone he should obey, but it was so difficult to fight the snarling inside his own head…

Someone touched his arm, and with a mental push at the dark ferocity threatening to overwhelm him, he opened his eyes to see who would have had the audacity to touch him.

His eyes first lit on a man who was familiar, but that wasn't the man who had given him the order to open his eyes. No. That was… His eyes swung to the other man in front of him. That was the man. The blue eyes were serious and worried.

"_Remus, calm yourself. Remember who you are. Take _control_, Remus."_

'Take control'? How? He couldn't breathe, much less think… The wildness inside him surged, demanding to be free of the confines of this room, this building, this pain-filled body…

He saw the open door, and a howl resounded in his head. If he could just get up on his feet… The old wizard said something to the big man who turned and motioned to the door. It slammed shut. The howl became a snarl, and bloodlust coursed through his veins.

"_No, Remus, control yourself! Do not let the wolf control _you_."_

The wolf. No, he shouldn't let the wolf control him. He knew that. But terror was stealing his strength…

The wolf wanted to snap at the hand that was extended toward him, but he reached deep for the will to deny the wolf what it wanted. _"I am not going to hurt you, Herr Lupin. I only want to see..."_ The touch was gentle, but Remus watched his fingers. Was there a needle? They wanted him calm. Bill Parsons had wanted him calm…

"_No! Not yet. We can do this. He can do this. Remus, do you hear me? You must take back control. Do you understand?"_

What did they want him to do? 'Take back control.' Would the darkness recede just because he wanted it to? He was tired of fighting it. Wouldn't it be easier to just — give in? Somehow he knew that wasn't an option. The realization slithered in and around his mind: if he couldn't push the wolf aside, things would be much, much worse.

Remus closed his eyes. It was so hard to concentrate with the wolf demanding to be dominant. _I can't do this._

But, then, he heard voices emerging from the chaos: James' voice, unyielding, strong: "You can do it, Moony! Gryffindor courage, you know!" Peter's voice, timid, but trying to be brave himself, saying, "Just try, Moony!" Lily's soft voice: "You've always been brave, Remus. Don't doubt yourself." And then, even though he knew he shouldn't, he could hear Sirius, arrogant, cocky, and sure: "Stop being such a bloody coward and take control of the damned wolf. I can't do it for you."

_Don't think about Sirius…._

A gentle hand rested on his head. It felt good. It felt comforting. He whimpered softly.

"_The Muggles have a saying: 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger.' If that is the case, you are strong enough to fight the fear, Remus. You are much stronger than you know. Certainly more than you give yourself credit for. Can you not believe in yourself? Can you not feel the strength that's within you? Lily and James know it's there. Believe them, if no one else." _

James and Lily had never lied to him. Neither had Peter. They believed he could do it.

And, suddenly, he realized that the wolf didn't seem to be quite as determined to take over. The darkness was still there, but it was no longer threatening and cold.

_I think… maybe… I can do this. I can't breathe. I have to be calm. Quiet. My chest hurts. But _he_ says they're here to help. But they have those needles…_

Panic rose up again, but he shoved it down. He_ said they're going to _help_ me. _

He heard the commanding voice say, _"Open your eyes, Remus."_

The wolf growled inside his head one last time. It knew that he was going to do what the Headmaster told him to do. He always had.

He opened his eyes.

"There's a good lad," Dumbledore said quietly, smiling down at Remus. The gold in the werewolf's eyes was fading, and there was recognition in them now.

The door opened and Healer Weimer came in, carrying a small tray with several bottles.

"He is back with us?" he asked. "Completely?"

"Nearly," Dumbledore replied. He patted Remus' blanket-covered shoulder and leaned back.

"He still breathes much too quickly." The large man knelt and placed the tray between himself and the Headmaster. Dumbledore noticed that Remus watched every move. "I am hopeful the Calming Draught will help with that."

Remus looked at the Healer, wariness in his eyes.

"_Herr_ Lupin, this will calm you. It will calm your —"

"No," the werewolf mumbled, drawing in a ragged breath.

Dumbledore's eyebrows met over the bridge of his long nose. "Remus, you must —"

"I _can't_," Remus gasped, shuddering.

"Has he taken such potions before?" Weimer asked. "Does he understand what a Calming Potion does?"

"Yes," the Headmaster replied. "I know there have been several times in the past when he's taken it and a few times when he's administered it. Remus, it's just a simple Calming Draught. You've taken —"

"Don't — want — _calmed_," Remus whispered.

"This makes no sense," Weimer muttered to himself. "Why should he fear being _calm_?"

"Remus, what's wrong with the Calming Draught?" Dumbledore asked.

"Don't — want to — forget!"

It was sheer desperation that gave volume to the werewolf's words.

"You won't forget anything, Remus. This is only to calm you," Dumbledore said soothingly. "You are breathing too quickly. You need this."

"Couldn't remember." Tears suddenly welled in the werewolf's eyes.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What couldn't you remember?"

"Everyth— James — Siri— me."

It was practically gibberish. It meant nothing. And yet, it meant something to Remus, Dumbledore knew. _If only I could make sense of it… _Remus was afraid of forgetting. He apparently had, for a while. Amnesia? No. That wasn't quite right: he had become disturbed when the Healer had said the potion was going to _calm_ him…

"Remus." He had to make one more attempt to get answers they desperately needed. He sorted through the images he had seen in the werewolf's mind. "What did Bill Parsons give the hippogriff? And the Erumpent? To calm them?"

Remus shut his eyes tightly, and a tear slipped from under his eyelid.

"What did he give them?" Dumbledore asked insistently. _What did he give _you_, Remus?_

And suddenly, almost too quietly for the older wizard to hear, Remus breathed a word of Latin — "_Torpeus" — _and it explained everything.

"_Die Muttergottes,_" whispered Weimer. "No, _Herr_ Lupin, this is just to calm you. Not to make you forget. You will know what is happening. I would not give you such a thing as that. Torpeus Draught." The Healer made a noise of disgust. "This is only to calm you. On my word as a healer, the potion I have here for you is for nothing but to make you breathe easier, to breathe slower. I promise this."

Remus stared at the man with so much suspicion in his eyes, that it sent anger slicing through Albus Dumbledore like a knife. That Bill Parsons had taken away the young man's trust to this point, that he could not even trust a _healer..._

"He will not harm you, Remus. He will not use anything that will numb your mind as the Torpeus Draught does. I will make certain of that," he said quietly.

It took more than twenty minutes to convince Remus to swallow a small amount of potion. But soon after that, he seemed to breathe more easily and more deeply.

Pleased with the potion and the patient's progress, Weimer put his hand on Dumbledore's shoulder and jerked his head toward the hallway. "If I could speak to you for a moment, _Herr_ Dumbledore…"

"Of course." The Headmaster smiled at Remus, who looked slightly worried as the older wizard stood. "I will be but a minute, Remus. All will be well."

Weimer sighed deeply once they were face-to-face in the hallway. "We cannot always take this much time to give him a simple potion. I am worried that I may need him to take something quickly and, if he does not —" He shrugged, spreading his hands apart.

Dumbledore lowered his eyebrows. "What would you have him do?"

"He needs to either take a potion — willingly — whenever I give it to him, or he needs to stay calm when we give him an injection."

"I cannot think he will allow that," the older wizard said slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

The Healer hesitated then said, "The only other option is to sedate him, and keep him that way until he is more fully recovered. Not being able to give him the antibiotic — or even pain medication — will make it nearly impossible to heal him."

"Sedating him is no option," Dumbledore said flatly. "He fears not remembering — and not knowing what is happening — more than anything, even the syringes."

"Then he must be convinced — somehow — to either accept the potions or the injections."

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment, considering the request and the problems inherent. "I understand. I will talk to him. Perhaps if we let him choose, it might settle his mind." He started to turn, as if he was going to return to Remus' side, but the Healer stopped him with a gentle touch.

"Because of the — confusion earlier, we were unable to give him the antibiotic."

The Headmaster felt himself tense. "So, you need him to take it now."

The Healer shrugged.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment then nodded gravely. "Give me a minute with him."

He went back to the injured werewolf who hadn't moved at all. He settled himself next to Remus and considered what words he could use that would make the situation easier.

"You're very sick, Remus," he finally said without preamble. "Healer Weimer is concerned that the usual treatments for infection won't be strong enough to help you." The younger man was watching him with fever-bright blue eyes, but he made no sound or movement. "He needs to use an antibiotic. It will cure the infection, which is what is making you sick. Do you understand?"

Remus swallowed and then nodded, just once.

Now was the difficult part. "There are two ways he can give you the antibiotic," Dumbledore began.

He didn't have to go any further. Remus' eyes widened and he inhaled deeply. "The needles," he whispered.

"Or as a potion," the Headmaster said quickly. "The choice is up to you how you want to take it."

The younger man looked away from him and clenched his teeth as tightly as he clasped the green blanket in his fist. "Don't want it."

"This is the only thing that can truly help you, Remus. You're going to lose your leg or your life if you don't let him do this."

"Rather die," Remus said hoarsely.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up before he could stop them. "Remus, you cannot mean that."

"You don't — know…" The young wizard's voice broke and his eyes glistened with tears.

"What don't I know?" the Headmaster asked gently.

Remus covered his eyes with his uninjured hand. After a long moment of silence, Dumbledore prompted: "What is it that I don't know, Remus?"

The younger man suddenly shuddered violently, and the Headmaster froze. "Remus?"

"Doesn't — matter." Remus lowered his arm, but wouldn't meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Whatever — you want — I'll do."

While Albus was glad the young man had capitulated, there was something that made him wonder if perhaps Remus hadn't given in too quickly and too easily. The hopelessness in the werewolf's eyes as he meekly swallowed the potions that Weimer handed him minutes later haunted Dumbledore for days.

**I'd beg for you to review, but I just KNOW you're going to anyhow, right?  
****Now, don't disappoint me!**


	16. Chapter 15:Painful Truth

A/N: This chapter is brought to you by the letters "S" for SortingHat47, and the letter "Z" for Zarathustra.  
Thanks to you who review so faithfully: remuslives23, Wolviesfan, PopstarJ01, cherry-s-twin, allycat1186, Liv Naravul (even if you've been busy!), and sonoralie. And thanks to all of you who have put this story on alert! I'd probably be suicidal by now if it weren't for you all!

(And Alaramine? This chapter won't be too depressing. Honest!)

Disclaimer: As someone else in another disclaimer said: If you recognize them, they're not mine.

**Chapter 15: Truth is Painful**

**9 September, 1985—11:13 a.m. **

The first thing that Moody saw when he stepped onto the first floor was Healer Weimer. The big man was leaning against the reception desk, intently studying some papers spread out on the surface in front of him. Two of his assistants were standing beside him. One of them, a young woman in Trainee robes, looked very unhappy.

"Healer," Moody said, adding a nod to his greeting.

"Ah, Auror Moody." The man smiled. "It is good to see you. How are you this day?"

"Fine. How's Lupin?"

Weimer started to motion toward the room directly across from where he was standing when he stopped and gave Moody a thoughtful stare. "Actually, _Herr_ Moody, I wonder if you could help us with something."

There were several things that Alastor Moody had learned in his life. One of those things was that if something appeared innocent, it more than likely full of Dark magic. Another was that it was never a good idea to agree to help with something until you knew exactly what it was.

"Will it take long?" he asked. "My partner is upstairs getting some information, but we need to get back to Headquarters."

Weimer glanced in the direction of the room he had started to motion to. "I do not think it will take long. It all depends on _Herr_ Lupin, I think."

"What's the problem?"

Before Weimer could speak, there was the sound of a woman screaming and then loud sobs.

"Well, that didn't go well," Weimer's male assistant muttered.

Weimer sighed. "She has just found out that her fiancé has been infected with lycanthropy," he explained to Moody. "He wished to tell her himself. I had wanted to be there with him, to help him break the news to her, but —" He shrugged then gestured to his assistant. "Paul, perhaps you could go talk to them —"

Weimer's assistant nodded and walked quickly away.

"Now, about _Herr_ Lupin." Weimer motioned for Moody to step closer. "It was my plan to heal his hand today. But there is a small — problem. I thought I would have to send for _Herr_ Dumbledore, but I think you will_ — _suffice."

Moody snickered to himself to think of himself as 'sufficient.'

"His hand has been badly broken — shattered." Moody nodded and Weimer went on. "The potions we have for broken bones will not help. The small pieces may heal together in the wrong way. There is more I must do. But it will be very painful. It would be much easier to have him sleep through _der Ablauf _— the procedure, but he resists this. So, all that can be done is pain-blocking spells and charms. I fear they may not be enough."

"So, you want me to get him to agree to be put to sleep for this?"

"If you can."

Moody gave a curt laugh. "You don't ask much, do you?"

Weimer's smile was almost sheepish.

The Auror took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I'll do what I can, but don't expect much. When that boy gets an idea in his head, it's damned near impossible to get past it."

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Remus was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His bandaged right hand rested on his chest. He turned his head to look at the Auror as the older wizard entered the room.

"Well, you look a hell of a lot better," Moody growled.

"Still feel like hell," Remus replied. His voice was still lacking volume, but at least he could finish a short sentence without gasping for air.

Moody dropped heavily into a chair next to the bed. "Weimer's going to heal that hand today, he says."

Remus turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "He sent you to talk to me."

"That he did."

Remus shuddered. "Can't do it."

The Auror rubbed the arms of the chair with the palms of his hands. "Sounds as if sleeping through it might be the better of the two options."

"Bugger that," Remus mumbled, closing his eyes.

"You'd rather have the pain?" Moody asked.

There were several things Remus could have said in reply, but they required a lot of breath — and a lot of strength. So, he'd keep it simple: "Yes."

"Can't say I agree with you," the older man said, his tone implying that he had given it a shot, and was now giving up the argument.

"Don't expect you to."

The Auror got to his feet. "Well, then, Lupin, I'll see you soon. I've got to find my partner and get back to Headquarters."

Remus opened his eyes. Was that all?

Responding to the unspoken question in the younger wizard's eyes, Moody said, "I'm not going to try to convince you to do something you don't want to do. I'll tell Weimer I tried, but you've made your decision."

He walked out before Remus could say anything.

Minutes later, Weimer came in with his female Trainee at his heels. She carried two small bottles which she placed on the table near the bed.

"_Herr_ Lupin, are you ready to begin?"

Remus suddenly felt unsure. But what were his options? He couldn't bear the thought of voluntarily drinking a potion that would take away his consciousness…

But then, cold realisation slashed through his thoughts, and he remembered several long, lonely nights in November and December four years ago, when he couldn't sleep without either a dosing of Sleeping Draught or inordinate amounts of firewhiskey… That had been voluntary.

_But this is different…_

He drew in a deep breath. "I'm ready."

They made him swallow the contents of both bottles. While the potion worked to numb his arm from elbow to fingertips, he watched them extend a portion of the bed from near his right shoulder out.

After a few moments, Weimer touched his hand, and grunted in satisfaction when Remus said he didn't feel it.

But then the Trainee leaned over him. "Here, Mr Lupin, we'll have to restrain your arm so it doesn't move while the healing is taking place."

"Restrain —" Before he could get another word out, she had gently, but firmly taken his right arm and positioned it over the extension that the healers had created. A flick of her wand, and his arm was immobilized, pinned to the bed by an invisible force.

He could feel the panic rising and he closed his eyes. _They're healers. They're healers. _But the images flashing through his mind were of being pinned to the ground — and syringes filled with potion that made him forget who he was…

"_Herr_ Lupin, look at me," demanded a voice harshly.

He drew a deep breath then obeyed.

Weimer looked relieved. "_Blau_," he muttered. "This is good." He paused to whisper some orders into the Trainee's ear and then smiled at Remus. "Are you ready, then, _Herr _Lupin?"

Remus felt his stomach heave, and he swallowed hard. He didn't dare open his mouth, so he nodded curtly.

"If at any point, you feel any pain, you must tell me," Weimer told him.

Again he nodded.

The Healer whispered something, and the bandages disappeared from Remus' hand. The young man couldn't help but look — and instantly regretted it.

_There's no way they can heal — that. _Despair washed over him and he clamped his eyes shut. It was bad enough that he'd probably never walk well, thanks to the damage to his leg, but to see his hand like that…

There was the noise of someone entering the room, moving to stand on his left.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that one of my partners was attacked by a 5-year-old?"

Remus looked up at Alastor Moody. "No," he whispered.

Moody grunted. "I'm surprised. It's a good story." He grabbed the chair he had recently vacated and pulled it closer to the bed. "It all started when some woman sent her teenaged son to tell us that she was being attacked by her neighbour in her backyard…"

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Moody had seen many gruesome sights in his life —his leg before it was amputated, for example. So it didn't bother him to watch the healers work on Lupin's hand while he kept the younger man distracted. One story followed another, and he had the reward of actually seeing Lupin smile once.

The healers worked quietly, but no smile betrayed whether they were paying attention to the Auror's stories. Occasionally, they would interrupt to ask if Remus was feeling any pain, but at the quick shakes of his head, they'd return their attention to their work.

After a while — Moody wasn't sure how long it had been — as Weimer struggled to straighten Lupin's ring finger, the younger man closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"You all right?" Moody asked.

Remus swallowed hard then nodded.

The Auror caught Weimer's eye. The healer touched the palm of Remus' hand. They all saw the muscles in the younger man's right shoulder spasm, as if he were trying to jerk his hand away from Weimer's touch.

"Hells, Lupin, if it hurts, it hurts," Moody said. "We're not going to think less of you if you say you need something for the pain."

"How much longer?" Remus whispered.

"Quite a bit, I'm afraid." Weimer informed him.

Remus shifted uneasily in the bed, whimpering slightly.

"More of the pain potion, I think," Weimer said to his Trainee, keeping his tone light. The young woman nodded and left the room quickly. "In the meantime, I could try this..." The healer waved his wand and muttered a spell. Almost instantly, Remus sighed in relief.

"Remember: we are here to help you, _Herr_ Lupin. I do not want you to be in pain."

The young man opened his eyes and looked at the healer.

Weimer bent over the injured hand again, pretending he didn't see the scepticism in Lupin's face.

Moody cleared his throat. "Now, where was I? Oh, right…" He continued with the story he had been telling, but he knew the younger man wasn't paying attention.

Weimer crooked a finger, his lips moving silently, and Moody saw the bone beneath the skin shift…

"Fuck!" yelled Remus, his body arching off the bed. His left hand crossed over his body, reaching for the invisible bonds holding his arm strapped to the bed, as if he could physically break them and free himself.

Moody and Weimer both grabbed his left arm and pushed him back down until he was again flat on his back, breathing heavily.

The healer kept offering apologies over and over. "I thought that charm would hold," he said.

Remus shot a look of pure loathing at the healer.

"I suppose I deserve that," Weimer admitted with a short laugh. "I will not do anything else until Tatiana returns, _ja_?"

A moment later, the Trainee returned with a small bottle. Moody helped to support the young man's shoulders as he drank the contents in one quick swallow.

When Remus was again settled, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

"Why didn't the charm work?" Moody asked quietly.

Weimer seemed surprised that the Auror had asked. "I am not sure. It could be that the pain was stronger than I had thought. It could be that the stress makes it wear off more quickly." He paused to gingerly touch Remus' ring finger. There was no response from the werewolf, so the healer went back to work.

"Moody." The young man's voice was weak. "Tell me –"

"Tell you what?"

"— why Sirius did it."

No question could have taken Moody any further aback than that one. "Lupin —" He stopped. "I don't have the slightest clue. I always thought you would know, if anyone did."

Haunted blue eyes met his. "I would have liked to have known why — before I die."

"You're not going to die any time soon, Lupin. You're doing well. I know, you still feel like hell, but you're not at Death's door like you were two days ago."

"They keep telling me — he didn't do it."

Moody sat motionless, staring at the younger man, whose eyes seemed to be glazing over. "Who tells you that?"

Remus' eyes closed for a second then slowly reopened. "You'll think I'm mad."

The Auror chuckled humourlessly. "You think I'm not?"

Again the suddenly heavily lidded eyes slid shut. It seemed that Remus had to make an effort to open them. "James and Lily," he finally mumbled.

Moody leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on the edge of the bed. "What do you think?"

Remus blinked slowly once, then twice, and just when Moody thought he wasn't going to answer, the younger man whispered, "I want to believe them."

"I'm sure you do," Moody said. But before he could say anything more, Remus had closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

The Auror looked across the bed at Weimer and Tatiana. The Trainee shrugged. "So I added a few drops of a Sleeping Draught to the pain potion."

Weimer stared at her for a moment before saying, "I understand what you were thinking, but you knew he did not want that. You and I will need to have a _Diskussion _about _die_ _Sittenlehre — _the ethics of this."

Moody stood up. "How long will he be asleep?"

The German healer cast a glance at the young woman. She didn't look him in the eye. "I only put three drops in, so maybe an hour."

"Is that enough time to finish this?" the Auror asked.

"It should be," Weimer said. "If there are no complications."

"Then I'll go back to Headquarters. I told 'em I was taking some personal time, but I should go check in about the other case I'm working on. I'll be back later." The Auror covered Lupin's hand with his own for a moment, then left the room.

**3:04 p.m.**

He was slow in waking. He had been having a dream — a pleasant one for once — and he didn't want to let it go. Consciousness demanded more from him, though, and the dream faded quickly away, leaving him nothing, not even the memory of what it was about.

He was lying on his right side, and his right arm was numb because he'd apparently been in this position for a while. He rolled himself onto his back, and without thinking about it, brought his right hand up, ready to rub his still-tired eyes.

And then he froze. For a long moment, he stared, unblinkingly, at his fingers. There were no words, no thoughts capable of expressing anything that he was feeling at that moment.

Slowly, he closed his hand into a fist then opened it back up. One by one, he bent his fingers: thumb, index, middle, ring, pinky… Newly repaired joints and muscles complained at being forced to move, but the resulting ache was no worse than what he normally endured after a full moon.

Tears rose in his eyes, blurring his sight, and he wiped them away with the back of his left hand.

Movement caught his attention, and he let his focus shift from his hand to the healer standing in the doorway.

Weimer smiled broadly at him. "It is good, _ja_?"

"Very," Remus agreed hoarsely.

**Wednesday, 11 September—10:02 a.m.**

Albus Dumbledore peered around the doorframe. Remus appeared to be sleeping. His right hand was resting on his chest, and his left hand was covering it protectively.

Quietly, the older wizard went in and seated himself in the chair next to the bed, but almost immediately, Remus opened his eyes.

"Hello, Remus," Dumbledore greeted him.

There was a few seconds as the younger man came to full awareness of where he was and then acknowledged the Headmaster's greeting.

"Healer Weimer said things went very well with your hand."

Remus' face brightened slightly. "At least it looks like a hand now." He moved his left hand away and flexed the fingers of his right hand demonstratively.

"Wonderful! Obviously, Healer Weimer did a remarkable job. All you need now is for your leg to heal, and you'll be ready to take on the world again," Dumbledore said with an encouraging smile.

Remus gave a snort of disdain.

The Headmaster put his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. "You know, I was thinking that when St. Mungo's has done all they can for you, perhaps you can stay at Hogwarts to complete your recovery. Hagrid could always use another pair of hands, and there are some charms and defences you could strengthen for me."

The younger man's eyebrows lowered, and he stared intently at Dumbledore. "Alatza hired someone else, then?" he asked after a moment.

The abruptness of the question took the Headmaster by surprise, though he shouldn't have been shocked that Remus would ask it. Remus was quick-witted enough to hear what was said, and what was implied. He and Moody had known the question would be asked — and would have to be answered — fairly soon. He hadn't expected it this morning, however.

"Yes, Remus, he did," the older man replied gently. There was no way to sweeten it.

"I thought he might," Remus admitted, darkly.

"If you'd like, I can start asking if there's anyone with the need for a tutor," the Headmaster offered. "I'm certain that Pindar Alatza will give you a fine recommendation."

Remus shook his head. "No. I'll — find something."

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause during which Remus closed and opened his hand several times. "Alastor went to the Alatzas' and got your things."

Remus said nothing.

"If there is anything of yours that you need, you can tell me and I can relay the message to Alastor — though I think Alastor will be stopping by often." Dumbledore watched the young man closely, waiting for some kind of response.

"He was here a couple of days ago," Remus finally said, apparently realizing he should say something.

"He mentioned that to me. He also mentioned that you might appreciate having this." The Headmaster smiled as he produced a small moleskin bag from the pocket of his robes.

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out," Dumbledore said, holding it out to him.

It took Remus a minute to get the bag open and withdraw its contents: some folded clothes and a long, brown wand. His reaction was not exactly as Dumbledore had expected it to be. In fact, it was safe to say there was absolutely no reaction whatsoever. At least, not at first.

"He thought you might find it useful, having your wand here."

Remus just stared at it.

"Remus?"

The young man blinked then looked askance at Dumbledore. "Oh, yes, great. Thank you."

"Mr Alatza gave those to Alastor the morning you were — taken."

"Good of him." Remus suddenly thrust the clothes and wand back into the bag and jerked the drawstrings tight.

"Remus —" The Headmaster began.

The deep blue eyes that met his were bright with barely contained fury.

"It's understandable that you're angry and upset by what's happened. You've had much taken from you. But you must remember that there are people who care for you very much, and we will help you in any way we can. Just — don't close yourself off from us."

"'Don't close myself off?'" Remus repeated harshly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Alastor was out of his mind because you have been so close-mouthed about what you do or where you've been. No one even knew the name of the family you were working for."

"'Close-mouthed —'" Remus stared at him in disbelief.

"Alastor even went as far as to accuse me of helping you cut yourself off from everyone."

The younger man made a move as if he was going to sit up, but gasped with barely concealed pain and lay still. "I didn't have much choice! Everyone _pushed_ me away after – James and Lily died –" He broke off and took a deep breath. "Yes, I isolated myself! What else could I have done?"

"You did exactly what I helped you to do," Albus said quietly.

Remus stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"I have had three months to think about Alastor's accusation," Dumbledore went on. "And I will admit that I did help you to isolate yourself. You needed the time to heal. Everyone else needed the time to forget."

"But they haven't forgotten," Lupin said. "They still know who I am. They _still_ talk when I walk through the Leaky Cauldron — and I can't stand going to Hogsmeade…"

"They haven't forgotten, no," Dumbledore agreed. "But what happened was so terrible that it can't ever be completely forgotten. Would you want them to forget James' and Lily's sacrifice? Or Harry's victory?"

There was a long pause before Remus replied quietly: "No."

"I was wrong in thinking the world would forget about your friendship with Sirius Black." He paused while Remus caught his breath and looked away. "But you are wrong in thinking that they condemn you for it. They have had four years to realise that you were not an accomplice in his nefarious crime."

Remus rubbed his face with his hands. Deliberately not looking at the Headmaster, he asked, "And four years to realise that I wasn't the spy in the Order?"

"That was quite obvious on the first of November four years ago," Dumbledore replied, with a sardonic twist of his lips.

"Not that obvious," the young man muttered. "It took three days to convince the Aurors I had nothing to do with it."

Dumbledore was silent.

"Why didn't you just _tell_ them I wasn't the spy?" Remus suddenly asked, meeting the Headmaster's eyes. "The Order, I mean."

This time, it was the older wizard who looked away first. "Because, Remus, I wasn't certain that it _wasn't_ you."

He felt the younger man's shock.

"You sent me on those missions, and I did exactly what you told me to do," Remus protested. "I brought back every bit of information that I could get my claws into. And you still thought it was _me_?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I hoped that it wasn't. As much as I hoped that it wasn't any of the others. But, as time progressed, it became patently obvious that someone close to the Potters was revealing their secrets to Voldemort."

"And it could never be Sirius," Remus whispered bitterly.

"No. No one would have ever thought it was Sirius," Dumbledore agreed quietly.

"And so it had to be me." Lupin said with a sighing finality that made Albus think that the young man had gone over that argument many times in his head already.

"I confess it seemed — wrong," the Headmaster admitted. "I make no excuses for myself, Remus. Or for the others. As unlikely as it seemed, it had to be someone who we all trusted, cared for, loved. Unfortunately, you appeared to be the only one who could have had the most to gain by believing Voldemort's rhetoric."

"It was all lies!" Remus hissed, glaring at Albus. "I knew that! _You_ knew I didn't believe it!"

Dumbledore spread his hands apart in an almost helpless gesture. "I knew someone was lying. You brought back information that I knew you could only have gotten through being a capable liar. And I knew you were quite capable of dissembling if the need arose. You used that ability for the sake of the Order. How could I not suspect that you might use that ability _against_ the Order?"

"What would I have gained?" Remus demanded hoarsely. "I'm a half-blood and a half-breed!"

"There were other half-blooded wizards and witches taken in by Voldemort's promises and propaganda," Dumbledore said. "And if he could have seduced one such as you to serve him, he would have counted himself lucky."

"I'm no Fenrir Greyback."

"No, we know that. Voldemort, however, did not. He believed that a werewolf's basic nature was more Greyback than Lupin. He would have underestimated you, Remus. As, to my regret, I did."

**1:30 p.m.**

Now that Dumbledore was gone, Remus could mull over the conversation they'd had. He had to admit it surprised him that Dumbledore hadn't completely trusted Remus at the end. The reasons why hurt even more.

When had Remus ever given less than his best for the sake of the Order? He had done exactly what he'd been asked — no, _ordered _— to do. And because of that, he was to be suspected and feared?

He picked idly at some fuzz on the blanket.

_Underestimated_.

The word kept flitting in and out of his thoughts, and he found it nearly laughable, in a sarcastic, self-deprecating kind of way. How many times had he planned pranks for the Marauders and never suffered the consequences of detentions because the professors hadn't believed he was capable of being so — devious? That was Sirius Black's and James Potter's bailiwick — not Remus Lupin's.

_Underestimated._

He had always given his best effort when it came to things that were important. His parents, Hogwarts, his friends, the Order — there had been nothing he wouldn't have done for any of them. And yet, they had found him lacking. They had underestimated him.

It hurt it more ways than he could have ever thought.

He sighed and reached behind him to readjust the pillows.

They had all known that Sirius was clever and sly. They had all known he could plot and scheme like no one else. No one had underestimated Sirius.

_And I thought _Peter_ was the underestimated one…_

Oh, there was no doubt that Peter didn't have the same brilliance with charms or transfiguration. There wasn't any question that his defensive spells were based on fear more than skill. But he had been braver than anyone would have ever believed, going after Sirius all by himself. Sirius, who was _never _underestimated…

_We underestimated Peter's bravery. But Sirius… We _over_estimated his loyalty, his friendship, his truthfulness — all because he had broken his ties with his Dark magic-using family. Or so we thought._

Remus pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, his long fingers entangling with the shortened strands of hair.

_And they underestimated and mistrusted me because at the full moon I cannot control the Dark Creature that I am. _

That's what it all came down to. They had said it didn't make a difference, though Remus could name at least four Order members who had been uncomfortable around him.

_As if I was going to transform at any given moment and rip them limb from limb…_

He had known Dumbledore was right: that he was the only one able to get into the meetings in which Death Eaters would try to convince whatever Dark creatures happened to attend that Voldemort would give them freedoms and powers that the Muggle-loving Ministry never could. He had gone to the meetings. He had come back with information: how many had turned, how many were uncertain, and which ones would agree when Remus whispered that freedoms granted now would only mean chains later…

_And yet _I_ couldn't be trusted._

His head ached.

And it was all pointless, really. Did it matter that Dumbledore hadn't trusted him? That Moody hadn't trusted him? No. He had said as much to Moody months ago. It was all water under the bridge, spilt milk…

_You've just learned that the one man who you trusted more than anyone, who gave you an education and tried to give you a _life_, for Merlin's sake, didn't trust you, and you're thinking in terms of pathetic metaphors._

_Gods, _I'm_ pathetic. _

James would have laughed and said, "Moony, you're crippled and sick. Of course you're pathetic!" But he would have smuggled something edible to Remus all the same.

Peter would have frowned and said, "Moony, don't say that. You're not pathetic. You're just not feeling well right now." He would have brought Remus some chocolate.

Sirius would have rolled his eyes and said, "You're such a git. Stop talking like that and tell me how I can get into Anna Hargrave's robes instead." Remus would have then been presented with a book that Sirius would swear he had had for years — but Remus would know was new.

_Don't think of Sirius, who we overestimated…_

_Unless… _The dreams of Lily and James, and their words to him resounded through his thumping head…

"_He loved us, Moony." What if… _

_What if we _hadn't _overestimated him_? The thought turned him cold.

"_He wouldn't have betrayed us." What if he hadn't…? _

But try as he might, Remus couldn't imagine a scenario in which an _innocent _Sirius Black could have ended up on a street in London, laughing maniacally, with the bloody remains of Muggles and Peter Pettigrew splattered around him…

So he gave the whole thing up as impossible and went back to sleep.

**Don't underestimate how much a review means.  
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	17. Chapter 16:Sanctuary

Chap

**A/N: Thanks to Zarathustra for the beta work, and for SortingHat47, who is STILL with me, even if I do drive her insane with questions and comments… And the 500****th**** rewrite of Chapter 24…**

**Thanks to you who review—and those of you who have put this story on your favourites list. I really, really do appreciate every single one of you! (I am SOOO PMS-ing right now—I'm practically in tears at this…)**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Blah, blah…not mine… JKRowling… yadda yadda… I mentioned the bisque… (Extra points if you know where THAT line came from…)**

**Chapter 16: Sanctuary**

**Thursday, Sept. 12, 1985—3:37 p.m.**

Moody and Garrison were both anxious to put the Snodgrass case behind them. Any case involving love gone badly seemed to bring out the worst in people, and this was no different. For the last hour, they had listened to the story of a couple who, for all intents and purposes had seemed ideally suited for one another. But then the tale had become one of betrayal and supposed reconciliation, which involved the giving of a Dark-magic tainted ring.

Dorothea Snodgrass had awakened the night before, shocked to find herself in St. Mungo's. The healers had explained the reason why she was there as gently as they could. She had taken it as well as anyone could have, the healers had told the two Aurors, but Moody remained sceptical. She still seemed stunned now as the two men questioned her.

"I hope you've learned your lesson, lass," Moody said.

The young woman nodded. "I have. I'll never put a ring on my finger without having it checked for traces of Dark magic."

"Or any other kind of jewellery, either," Moody added. He turned to look at his partner.

"Anything else you want to ask?"

Terry Garrison shook his head. His partner was so thorough there was very rarely any need to add anything else.

"Then, if you're sure there's nothing else, we'll be moving on," the senior Auror said, directing his comment to the young woman again.

"No, that's all I can remember," she said. Hesitantly, she added, "Will he be in much trouble?"

Garrison cringed, knowing what was coming.

"Merlin's balls, girl!" Moody yelled. "Don't you think he should be? Giving anyone an object with any trace of Dark magic is illegal! Especially when the receiver of the gift doesn't know it's tainted! He put you here in St. Mungo's, for Merlin's sake!"

Garrison reached out and patted his partner on the shoulder. "Sir, I think we should be moving along, don't you?"

Realizing what the young man was doing, Moody allowed himself to be steered out of the room with just a quick, but much quieter, admonition to be vigilant.

"Stupid fool," Moody muttered. "'Will he be in much trouble?'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"You were the one who told me you'd seen this time and again," Garrison said, a grin threatening to break out.

"So I did," sighed the older wizard. "It still amazes me that some people are such idiots, though." Shaking his head and still muttering to himself, he led Garrison to the lift door. "We should question Lupin while we're here," he said abruptly. "See what he wants to tell us about the last three months."

"You know that half of the charges we press against Bentley and Parsons will never stand up to the Wizengamot's inspection," Garrison said.

Moody shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Let's go talk to Lupin for now and see what we think after that."

Moody was the first one off the lift, his partner just a step behind. Suddenly, the senior Auror threw his arm out, catching Garrison across the chest, halting him.

"What's —?"

A light flashed from Lupin's room, and then another. Then they heard a man's voice, asking something by the tone of it, and then stifled laughter.

Moody's wand was already in his hand as he stepped quickly toward the door.

There was another flash, and then Remus Lupin's voice, shouting, "No!"

Garrison couldn't see what happened, but he heard the thump of something heavy smashing against the wall. Moody winced and then charged into the room.

"Everyone stop where you are!"

The younger Auror followed him, his wand also drawn. His eyes scanned the room quickly, assessing the situation as Moody had taught him.

A young man, not much older than Garrison, lay slumped against the wall. His eyes were open, but he looked stunned — concussed, perhaps. Another man, in St. Mungo's robes, stood near Lupin's bed, his hands outstretched and empty. He looked frightened.

"What in the seven levels of hell is happening here?" Moody demanded.

"He attacked my friend!" the St. Mungo's employee yelped. "He just — attacked him! Call the Werewolf Capture Unit! He's gone feral!"

Moody immediately turned to the werewolf, who was curled into a tight ball, the blanket drawn up so that nothing could be seen but the back of his head. "Lupin?"

The sounds of footsteps in the hallway meant that the hospital staff was being drawn by the disruption. The younger Auror turned and said, in his most officious-sounding tone, "Everything's under control. We're Aurors." As if their Aurors robes didn't make that obvious…

"Call the WCU!" the St. Mungo's employee near Lupin's bed repeated, addressing his colleagues.

Moody jabbed a finger at him. "One more word and I'll shut your mouth for you!"

The man cringed, his eyes shooting furtive glances at his fellow employees, seeking sympathy, but getting none.

With more gentleness than Garrison would have thought, the Auror pulled the blanket down. Lupin had his eyes closed tightly, his hands drawn to his chest. He was trembling violently.

"Open your eyes, Lupin," Moody said. His tone was quiet, but firm. "Come on, boy! No one's going to hurt you."

The man against the wall stirred and struggled to get his feet beneath him.

"Don't move," Garrison told him. He knew the man could have suffered some kind of serious head injury, and moving might worsen it. He also knew that Moody would rake him over the coals if he let anyone move without the Auror's express permission.

"Damn it, Lupin! Open those eyes now!" Moody growled, losing his patience.

The werewolf slowly obeyed, raising his gaze to meet the Auror's. Even from where Garrison was standing he could see that Lupin's eyes were blue: not the dreaded gold.

"I'm sorry," the werewolf whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't. Don't tell —"

"What were you doing in here?" Garrison asked the man against the wall.

The man in St. Mungo's green gave his friend a warning glance that Garrison caught. Moody saw it too.

"What was that flash?" the senior Auror asked.

"You know we're going to get the bloody story out of you one way or another," Garrison said. "So you might as well tell us now and get it over."

"And if you do, I won't be as tempted to turn you into hedgehogs," Moody snapped. "Now tell us what you were doing in here!"

The man on the floor sighed. "I was just taking some photos." He shifted slightly, and now the Aurors could see the camera that had fallen beneath him.

"For what purpose?" Garrison asked.

Again there was a hesitation, but the man continued before Moody could yell at him again. "I saw him —" he pointed toward the bed, "— at the carnival, and when Sean told me he was here, I just thought I could, well…"

He let the sentence taper off, which might have been the wrong thing to do, because Moody picked up the thought. "You thought you'd come in here and take photos of an injured man and do what? Sell them? Pass them around your friends and have a laugh at how the werewolf isn't that dangerous when he's sick and hurt and laid up in bed?"

Before Garrison could interfere, Moody muttered something under his breath and jabbed his wand in the direction of the man on the floor. There was a bang and a puff of green smoke, and a large lizard was suddenly blinking up at them.

Sean, the St. Mungo's employee, cried out in fear and took a step back. So did the other staff members in the hallway.

"Don't you bloody move another inch!" Moody ordered. "What's your place here?"

Sean licked his lips nervously. "I work in the Apothecary."

"There are rules against employees exploiting the patients for any reason," the older wizard said, aiming his wand in Sean's direction. "And I'm going to make sure everyone knows what you've done."

"I wasn't the one with the camera!" the unfortunate Sean cried. "I didn't want to bring him up here, but —"

"Oh, shut up," Moody snapped. "Garrison, cage that damned lizard. You —" he motioned to the other man. "— can carry your mate. Where's Weimer?" he demanded, looking at the people standing out in the hallway for the first time.

"He's upstairs, visiting another patient, I think," one woman volunteered quickly.

"Well, somebody should go and fucking _get_ him!" thundered Moody. "_Now!_"

Garrison had to admit he loved watching people when his partner spoke in that tone. They seemed to scramble everywhere, and yet nowhere, bumping into each other, and getting into each other's way.

He conjured a cage with a casual flick of his wand and motioned for Sean to put the lizard inside.

While he watched the fun of the lizard darting away from Sean's hands, he heard Moody ask Lupin: "What happened?"

The younger man mumbled something incoherently. Then he looked up at Moody. The blue eyes showed no sign of recognition as he whimpered. "Don't tell Bill. Don't tell him. I didn't mean it."

"Shite," Moody muttered. "He's bloody lost his mind."

Sean suddenly straightened, deciding to add his two Knuts worth before the healer arrived. "He threw Jasper across the room!"

Moody and Garrison exchanged glances.

"How did he do that?" the younger Auror asked. "He can't stand –"

"Not _physically_!" Sean said. "With magic! He made some kind of funny move with his fingers, and Jasper just went flying across the room!"

Moody and Garrison sent appraising glances at Lupin, who groaned and again whispered, "I didn't mean it."

The older Auror suddenly laughed curtly, startling everyone. "Learned some wandless magic, did you, Remus?"

Far from comforting the werewolf, Moody's words seemed to do the opposite. Lupin again curled into a tight ball, breathing shallowly and quickly. Garrison frowned. He recognized panic when he saw it.

"Moody —"

The Auror cut his partner off with an outstretched hand. "Remus." He touched the werewolf's shoulder. "Listen, lad. You did a good thing. You were defending yourself. You're not —"

"It was the lights. They wouldn't stop." And then plaintively, almost piteously, Lupin added, "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to, but they just wouldn't stop. Tell Bill I didn't mean it."

"What is this?" Weimer's voice resounded in the corridor. "Do you not all have work that needs to be done?"

The healers, assistants, and other staff members scattered before the man's anger.

Moody turned to face Garrison, and motioned to Sean. "Take him out of here. Put them in an empty closet or something until I'm ready to deal with them."

Fear bleached Sean's face as he looked over at Garrison. The young Auror smiled. "I wouldn't want to be you right now, mate."

**5:26 p.m.**

Anyone seeing Albus Dumbledore at that moment would have been certain of two things: that he was in a hurry and that he was very upset. The twinkle in his blue eyes was conspicuously absent, and he looked neither to the right nor the left as he went through the St. Mungo's reception area, through the hallways, and up the stairs to the first floor.

Even if he hadn't known that something was wrong, he would have been able to tell by the behaviour of the first floor staff members. Nearly all of them were loitering in doorways or darting quickly from room to room, as if they were trying to avoid the eye of someone who was just waiting to catch them doing something wrong.

Moody's voice was almost immediately and clearly recognizable. "— give me that _shit_! It was obviously done in self-defence!"

The Headmaster couldn't hear the words that were said in reply to the Auror, but Moody was obviously not pleased.

"He didn't react like a _wolf_! You can't charge him with attacking someone when —"

Dumbledore reached the doorway of Weimer's office and found himself next to a man in Ministry robes. Belatedly, he realized the robes were the colour of the Magical Creatures Division and a quick glance at the man's badge told him the man was from the Werewolf Capture Unit.

Another man from the Werewolf Capture Unit was standing next to Alastor Moody in front of Weimer's desk. The WCU man was red-faced with fury. "_Any_ time a werewolf attacks, whether it's a physical or magical attack, is a violation of Article one, Section b. He bloody near fractured the man's skull —"

"The man _deserved_ to have his bloody skull fractured! Lupin did exactly what any other _man_ would do in that situation! If I woke up and had those fucking lights popping off at me, I'd have hexed the idiot into next week!"

"Or turned him into a lizard?" The WCU man asked, with an acrid smile.

"He's lucky I didn't turn him into a mouse and turn the other bastard into a cat!" Moody snapped. "Lupin reacted like a _wizard_. He used magic to defend himself, which is allowable, even by underage kids! He didn't bite or scratch either one of them. If someone hadn't called you, you wouldn't have even known about this!"

"So you admit you'd have just covered it up?"

"Hells, yes! This is ridiculous! Those two provoked an injured _wizard_ by using scare tactics and intimidation — and this entire thing was meant to humiliate him. I say let St. Mungo's deal with the one, and I figure the other one has learned his lesson from his — imprisonment."

"Moody, this is highly unethical and illegal, ignoring a werewolf attack —"

"Do you really want to do the bloody paperwork on it? And do you realize that as soon as you label this an 'attack,' that photo-taking wanker is going to have to go through the same treatment procedures as someone who was attacked by a werewolf's teeth or claws?" Moody let that sink in for a second, then continued. "Ask the lizard if he wants to go through _that_ for the next month or two!"

The WCU employee who was next to Dumbledore sighed. "Come on, Bryson. He's right. We'll be there until seven tonight doing the paperwork on this, and that doesn't include actually getting the werewolf down to the Ministry and locked up. Let's chalk it up as a misunderstanding and get out of here."

"The werewolf attacked a human being!"Bryson said insistently. "We are obligated by law to —"

Healer Weimer cleared his throat. "_Herr_ Bryson, I understand your — concerns. But _you_ saw _Herr _Lupin just a little while ago. You know as well as I do what this has done to him. Can I ask you to have _Mitleid _—" the German struggled for a moment before the right word practically exploded from his lips, "— _compassion _for a young man who has suffered so much?"

Bryson turned, shaking his head. His eyes fastened on Dumbledore. "I know why you're here," he said with a disgusted tone. "You're going to tell me to let this go, too."

The Headmaster smiled grimly. "If you already know what I'm going to say, Mr Bryson, then there is no need for me to say it. But I will add this: you know Remus Lupin. He was your study partner in Herbology, as I recall. Do you think Remus would ever deliberately attack anyone?"

"Not the Remus Lupin I knew at Hogwarts," Bryson replied. "But this is different. He's a werewolf –"

"He was a werewolf when he was at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.

There was a long, silent moment before horrified realization dawned on the WCU man's face. "All those days he missed… And the scratches —" He frowned. "How did you manage to keep that a secret? How did _he_ manage to get through all seven years without anyone knowing?"

"Oh, there were several who knew," the Headmaster admitted. "But no one believed that a werewolf could attend Hogwarts, so not everyone put all the clues together. He never gave them a reason to."

Bryson rubbed the side of his jaw with the palm of his hand. "I suppose you're going to tell me that Potter and Pettigrew — and Black, too, I suppose — knew all about it."

"Well, of course, they bloody knew!" Moody snapped. "They weren't stupid! And they didn't have their heads up their arses about —"

"Alastor," Dumbledore said quietly. "That's enough."

"No, it's not," the Auror insisted. "He wants to send the boy to Azkaban, Albus! It's not bloody right!" He banged his fist down on Weimer's desk. "He needs to keep in mind that Lupin has lost everything — _everything _— through no fault of his own. He needs to consider what those two buggers were doing to Lupin. And then he needs to ask himself, 'Is throwing that bloody _fucker_ against the wall worth a trip to Azkaban for Lupin?'"

Bryson swore under his breath. "You're asking me to ignore the _law,_ Moody! For the sake of emotion!"

"I'm asking you to do it for the sake of justice!" Moody shouted. "He doesn't deserve this!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Alastor, please! Calm yourself. Mr Bryson, was the man badly injured?"

"He's got a bump on his head, Albus. That's —"

"Alastor!" Dumbledore said sharply, cutting him off. "I'm asking Mr Bryson."

Bryson hesitated a moment before answering. "No, he really wasn't. He has a slight concussion. That's all."

"Has he admitted any part in provoking Remus?"

"Yes, he has," the other WCU worker replied before Bryson could. "They both did."

Bryson shot his colleague a dark look, but said nothing.

"Was Remus hurt at all in this?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Weimer.

The healer hesitated. "Not physically, no."

"Merlin's balls," Moody said harshly. "You haven't _seen_ him, Albus."

"Your message insisted on my immediate presence here, in this office, Alastor," Dumbledore said, his tone more than a little chastising.

"Go see him now." The Auror jerked his chin in the direction of the werewolf's room. "See what they've done."

Dumbledore looked at Weimer, who had his hands folded tightly together on top of his desk.

The healer raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. "He is sleeping right now, _Herr_ Dumbledore. He won't wake for another two hours at least."

"They had to sedate him," Moody said. "He couldn't calm down. Oh, he wasn't going wolf on them or anything," he added derisively. "He thought he was back at the damned carnival. He kept begging me not to tell Parsons that he'd used magic.

"If I'm understanding it right," the Auror continued, "the fact that he did magic was the reason that Parsons shattered the bones in his hand. As a bloody, gods-damned _punishment_."

The Headmaster inhaled deeply and slowly then exhaled even more slowly. He turned to Bryson. "And for using magic to defend himself, you want to punish him by sending him to Azkaban."

The WCU man looked down at the floor.

"Bryson, let it _go_," his colleague entreated. "We'll say it was a misunderstanding."

No one spoke.

"Fine," Bryson finally said in a low tone. And with that, he roughly shouldered his partner out of the way and left the room.

"You'll get a copy of our report," the other WCU employee said to Weimer. "Just sign it if you agree with it and send it back."

The healer nodded, but the other man was already gone.

Moody began to swear softly under his breath, but as the volume increased, the Headmaster snapped, "Alastor, stop it. There's no reason for bitterness when you've won the battle."

"Oh, forgive me, then," the Auror said sarcastically. "There's nothing bitter in knowing that I had to fight to defend the innocent and I have to let the guilty walk free."

"Sean Loring will suffer the consequences for his actions," Weimer said firmly. "I fully expect him to lose his position here."

"As he bloody well should!" Moody snarled.

Dumbledore realized suddenly that he was tired of facing Moody's rage. "I'm going to go see Remus. If you'll —"

"Wait." Moody held out a hand to stop him. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing more to discuss," Dumbledore said.

"Yes. There is," Moody contradicted him. "What happened today might happen again. If an idiot who works in the bloody _Apothecary_ knows where Lupin was and that he's here now, you can lay odds there are others who know. I want to know what's going to be done to protect Lupin while he's here." He directed his last comment to Weimer.

The healer sat back and let his still-folded hands rest on his belly. "I'm sure this is an isolated incident, Mr Moody."

"You can't guarantee it," the Auror said. "What steps are you going to take to keep this from happening again?"

A look of irritation crossed Weimer's face. "Obviously, you have something in mind."

"If you do have some sort of plan, Alastor, now might be a good time to share it." Dumbledore felt as annoyed as Weimer sounded.

"I do have an idea," Moody watched the Headmaster's face closely as he said, "Let's move him to Hogwarts."

The older wizard's eyebrows rose to his hairline, and he raised his hand to stroke his beard. "Alastor, you can't —"

Weimer cut in. "There is no one there who is skilled enough to take care of the injuries he has suffered. Certainly his mental and emotional state is fragile enough that —"

Moody shook his head and held up a hand to stop them both from saying anything further. "Just listen to me for a moment. He loves Hogwarts. You know that, Albus. It would be no trouble to set up a room for him — there are plenty of guest rooms there. As for qualified care, Pomfrey took care of him when he was a student. She's not completely ignorant of what needs to be done to take care of a werewolf. As far as more involved things," he nodded at Weimer, "you could either give her detailed instructions or you could Floo out to Hogwarts."

He paused for a moment, and when neither one of the other men spoke, he went on. "If we get him out of here and into someplace where he's comfortable, it can only help speed the healing process, or so I'd think. He wouldn't have to come into any contact with the students, and Merlin knows the house elves would be more than happy to cater to his every wish."

"I have several concerns, but one in particular worries me," Dumbledore said slowly. "He loved Hogwarts because of what he shared with James and Lily and Peter," he paused, then added, "and Sirius. What happens to his emotional and mental state if he returns — and is confronted with the fact that nothing remains but the memories?"

"Gods, Albus, he realizes that every single day of his life," Moody replied quietly.

**10:02 p.m.**

_He was chasing Sirius through a dense wooded area, which might have been the Forbidden Forest — or not. _

_Every so often, Sirius would stop and turn around, laughing, and he'd taunt Remus by saying, "Come on, Moony! Can't you keep up with me anymore?"_

_And it did seem for a while as if Remus would never catch up to him. As they neared the edge of the forest, though, Remus somehow knew that if he didn't catch Sirius now, he never would. So, with a desperate burst of speed, he made one final lunge…_

_His fingers snagged on the shirt that Sirius was wearing, and they fell, Sirius cursing loudly and angrily._

_They struggled on the forest floor, Sirius trying to extricate himself from Remus' grasp, Remus doing all he could to hold on to the other wizard. _

"_Let me go!" Sirius yelled. "What is wrong with you?"_

"_You killed James!" Remus replied, his voice harsh with breathlessness. "You killed Lily!"_

"_You're out of your bloody mind! I would never have done anything to James or Lily — or Harry!"_

"_Then who did?" demanded Remus, shifting his weight so that he had Sirius pinned securely beneath him. And then suddenly there was a lump in his throat, and unable to do anything else, he entangled his fingers even more deeply into Sirius' shirt and gave the other young man a vicious shove against the forest floor. "Damn it, Sirius, why didn't you kill me too? Why did you leave me like this? You knew I hated being alone! You knew I'd —" _

_Sudden realization flooded through him, and the fabric of the shirt slid through Remus' nerveless fingers. "Oh, Sirius. Did you hate me that much, that you'd deliberately do this to me? Kill James and Lily, and then Peter, so that I'd be alone?"_

"_Moony, I wouldn't have done that. I swore to you I'd always be around for you —"_

"_But you're not here now," Remus pointed out. "You're in Azkaban."_

_Sirius wrapped his long, cold fingers around Remus' wrists. "__Am__ I in Azkaban? Don't I feel real to you?"_

"_This is a bloody __dream__! You're not here_, _I'm__ not even here. I'm, Gods, I don't even know where I am." Remus admitted sadly._

"_Let me up. I'll show you where you are," Sirius said._

_And for some unknown reason, Remus complied. He stood up and then extended a hand to help Sirius to his feet. _

_The dark-haired Animagus dusted himself off quickly. "Just through those trees, Moony," he said, with a quick jerk of his chin._

_Hesitantly, Remus looked in the direction that Sirius had indicated, and then back again. "Come with me."_

_Sirius laughed. "Do you want me to hold your hand, too?"_

_Disgusted at his own uncertainty, Remus turned sharply on his heel and started walking. He heard Sirius' footsteps behind him._

_As the two young men stepped through the last row of trees, clouds scudded across the moon, blocking its light. It didn't prevent them from seeing the lights illuminating hundreds of windows in the castle that was before them._

"_Why are we here?" Remus asked softly._

"_We aren't. __You__ are," Sirius corrected. _

_They stood for a long moment, just staring at Hogwarts, lost in their own memories._

"_I wish we hadn't grown up," Sirius suddenly remarked._

"_I'm not sure you ever did," Remus said._

"_You know, Moony, I think you're wrong for once. I think we grew up too quickly. If we'd had more time to be stupid and irresponsible, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now: me rotting inside this hell, and you rotting inside your head." _

_Remus ignored his comment. Instead, without looking at his friend, he said, "Tell me why you killed them."_

"_I told you: I didn't."_

"_I can't believe that."_

"_That's your head talking, Moony." Sirius put his hand on Remus' shoulder. "What does your heart tell you?"_

"_I can't trust what my heart tells me," Remus said, hating the fact that tears were threatening to well up in his eyes. "It told me you would never betray me, and you did when you sent Snape to the Willow."_

_Sirius swore sharply then said mockingly. "I thought you forgave me for that?"_

"_I thought I had."_

_The hand slipped from Remus' shoulder. "You're hard, Moony. You're not who I thought you were."_

_Remus felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. "I'm exactly what you made me, Padfoot."_

_Pain seared through his left leg, and he staggered sideways. Sirius grabbed him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, bracing him as he struggled to get both feet firmly beneath him._

"_You're hurt, Moony," Sirius said. _

"_You sound worried," Remus commented through gritted teeth._

"_Why shouldn't I be?" the dark-haired wizard countered._

"_I'll spare us both the obvious comments," Remus replied tartly. He tentatively put his weight on his injured leg and promptly began to fall forward._

_Sirius again caught him._

"_You're such a stubborn bastard," the Animagus remarked. "You're not going to be able to walk on that."_

"_So how do you propose I get there —" Remus nodded toward Hogwarts, "— from here without walking?"_

"_You could Apparate."_

_Remus shook his head. "Not on the Hogwarts grounds. You know you can't Apparate within the boundaries —" Another flare of pain made him interrupt himself with a curse._

"_You're too damned practical, even in your dreams," Sirius said. His broad smile flashed brightly, even in the darkness. "Can't you, just once, imagine that it's possible, and make it happen?"_

"_It's not __possible.__"_

"_It's a fucking __dream__, Moony! Isn't that what you said to me? You can make anything happen in dreams."_

"_Like bring back James and Lily?" Remus asked bitterly._

_Sirius was very, very quiet, and the werewolf could feel the tension in his friend's body. "Moony," the scion of the Black family said very quietly. "Do you talk to them — in your dreams, I mean?" _

_Remus bit his lip, only partially to hide his wincing, but admitted, "All the time."_

_Sirius sighed, and there was something like relief within it. "Me, too."_

_Curiosity pushed pain aside for a moment. "They talk to you?"_

"_Hells, yes! I told you, I didn't do it."_

_Again, Remus' leg was filled with fire that went all the way up to his groin, burning and hot. This time, Sirius didn't hold him up, but allowed him to sink to the ground._

"_Padfoot —"_

"_Ask me anything, Moony."_

_Remus looked up at him in surprise. "How'd you know —?"_

"_I can tell by the tone. Now, what did you want to ask me?"_

"_If you didn't kill them, who did?"_

_Sirius' fingers were gentle as they brushed Remus' fringe away from his damp forehead. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."_

"_Make me believe it," Remus whispered, grabbing his friend's cold hand and squeezing it tightly. "It's a dream, right? Anything's possible, you said. Tell me, and make me believe it."_

"_Gods, Moony, you're delirious."_

"_I'm tired of being alone," Remus' admission sounded pitiful, even to his own ears._

"_You're never alone," Sirius said quietly, his voice surprisingly thick. "You're cared for more than you know, Moony."_

"_But —" The werewolf turned slightly, and the pain ripped through him, making him cry out. He could just barely feel Sirius' touch._

"_I can't hold on any longer, Remus," Sirius said, surprising him by using his actual name. "You need help, and they can give it to you."_

"_Don't need help… Need you, and James, and Lily…"_

"_We'll always be with you." _

_Was Sirius — crying? Sirius never cried. But drops of water were falling on Remus' face, and he twisted to try to see his friend's face one more time..._

He awoke with a gasp.

"It's all right, Mr Lupin," said a vaguely familiar voice.

Remus' eyes darted from side to side, taking in his surroundings. He was in a wood-panelled room, in a large four-poster bed with heavy, crimson draperies fringed with gold — reminiscent of Gryffindor colours. A large wardrobe occupied the spot opposite the bed; an old desk with dozens of pigeonholes sat next to a window to the right. The corner between the wardrobe and desk contained an over-stuffed chair and ottoman that looked just perfect for an evening of reading. The door was to his left, as was a wooden chair. A book lay on the seat, open but facedown, as if the reader had had no time to carefully mark her place.

The alleged reader was leaning over Remus, wiping his face with a damp cloth.

"Madame Pomfrey?" he asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Yes, dear. You're here at Hogwarts."

"But —"

"The Headmaster and Auror Moody brought you here just a few hours ago. Do you remember anything that happened?"

_What had happened? _

The pain in his leg returned simultaneously with the question and he tensed, drawing in a sharp breath.

"I have some potions for pain all ready for you," Pomfrey told him. "Healer Weimer guessed that you'd need them about now."

Her smile was gentle, but he knew better than to refuse anything that she recommended. At this point, he wasn't going to say no to anything that would take away the blazing in his leg. Or something that might take away the fire that burned in his heart for things that would never be.

**He's safe! He's where he should be! With people who like him and care about him!**

**Oh. And Severus Snape is lurking around somewhere. Should be interesting, yes?**


	18. Chapter 17:Confrontations

A/N: Zarathustra tells me that I don't need thousands of commas, and that sometimes I think faster than I type and make mistakes. SortingHat47 tells me that I write with a Pennsylvanian accent more than I ought and tells me when Severus Snape is not snarky enough... They're good people..

Dedicating this chapter to Wolviesfan because I'm hoping that'll make her call off the mutant crabs I'm being threatened with (Can't we boil them and dip them in butter...?)

**Chapter 17: Confrontations**

**Thursday, September 12, 1985—5:39 p.m.**

Severus Snape bit into the thick slice of warm buttered bread and chewed it thoughtfully.

"… Can already tell Blotts will fail the course if we don't get him a tutor," Flitwick was saying to McGonagall.

"He's had peer tutors before, but they haven't done him any good," McGonagall pointed out.

Severus was not going to allow this opportunity to pass without a word or two of his own. "That is because they were not talking to him about Quidditch or magical creatures. I should take this time to tell you, Filius, that he's already failed two exams in Potions."

"Why didn't his father hire someone over the summer to tutor him?" McGonagall asked with an exasperated sigh.

"He did," Flitwick protested. "Unfortunately, the boy is still only capable of performing third year charms and spells with any proficiency. He might as well have just passed over the fourth year completely."

"He should have repeated the fourth year," Snape commented.

"We discussed this last year," Minerva said sharply. "He made passing grades — barely passable, true, but passing all the same."

"Do you know anyone who would be willing to tutor him in Potions, Severus?" Filius asked.

"I have no desire to waste any student's time trying to tutor the unteachable."

"Severus!" Minerva said chidingly. "The boy is not unintelligent. He is a Ravenclaw, after all. He is merely — a little slow on the uptake, as they say."

Snape gave a derisive snort, thinking that the Sorting Hat was obviously cursed the evening that Jonathan Blotts was Sorted.

Filius sat back and speared another carrot with his fork. "I think I'm going to ask Thomas Clayton to help him with Charms."

"Clayton would be likely to teach him how to Charm the juice glasses to sing and the forks to dance," Severus muttered under his breath.

McGonagall snickered before she could stop herself. Pressing her lips firmly together, she shook her head. "Clayton is a good choice, Filius. Since he is a Gryffindor, do you want me to talk to him? Or would you prefer to do it?"

As the two professors discussed the matter, Severus allowed himself to be distracted by choosing a piece of cake for himself. He was thoroughly enjoying it when Albus Dumbledore walked in and seated himself at Snape's left.

"Severus, I wondered if I might have a word."

The Potions Master just barely stopped himself from saying, "You're the Headmaster — I don't have much choice, do I?" Instead, he took another bite of cake and raised his eyebrow at Dumbledore in question.

"Will you meet me in my office when you have finished?"

It sounded serious. Of course, most things were, when Albus Dumbledore asked a person to come to his office.

"Of course, Headmaster. I shall only be another minute or two."

"Good." Dumbledore rose and briefly laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "I have some fine port that you will no doubt enjoy."

Severus didn't turn his head to watch the older wizard go. He was too busy trying to figure out what the issue could be. It was bad enough to be asked to come to the Headmaster's office; add a glass of wine or port, and it could mean something catastrophic.

It was with great trepidation that he approached the entrance to Dumbledore's office less than fifteen minutes later.

"Ah, Severus. Thank you for coming so quickly." The Headmaster gestured to the comfortable wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. "Won't you have a seat?"

Snape perched himself at the edge of the seat of his chosen chair and looked at the leaded crystal goblet that sat on the small table between the two chairs. Dumbledore noticed his hesitation and motioned to the glass.

"I visited the Flamels this summer, and when I complimented them on their fine selection of wine, they generously gave me a bottle of their finest port," Albus said, speaking in a bright tone. "I think you will find it quite delightful."

Severus wasn't fooled by the Headmaster's attempt at cheeriness. This was serious indeed. He did sip at the port, however, and allowed himself an appreciative nod. "It is very good," he admitted. "Thank you."

Dumbledore waved the words of gratitude away. "I have some lemon drops here, if you'd care to try one?"

The Potions master shook his head and Albus finally came over and seated himself in the second chair near the fire.

"I know you are anxious about this visit, wondering what I could possibly want to talk to you about," the Headmaster said.

Severus said nothing.

"And, in fact, I hesitated to come to you about this."

Still, Snape remained silent.

Albus placed his own glass on the table and folded his hands together. "Something happened at St. Mungo's today —"

A warning bell sounded in the Potions master's head. He knew _who_ this was about; now he needed to know the _why._

"— As a result, I had to make a decision that I am certain is going to make you somewhat — unhappy," Dumbledore continued. His blue eyes peered intently into Snape's dark ones, waiting to see if the younger man would understand what he was implying.

It took only a moment. "You are bringing him here, aren't you?" Severus said, feeling his stomach clench.

The Headmaster's gaze was steady as he replied, "He is already here."

Snape downed the port in one swallow. "How could you do such a thing?" he demanded. "He endangered the lives of everyone here for seven years, and you want to put the students and staff in danger again?"

"Except for that one incident that involved you, I scarcely think you could say that Remus endangered anyone's life," Albus pointed out.

"But he nearly killed me!" Severus said, his voice rising in pitch and volume.

"And yet, you still went to that carnival to find him."

Dumbledore's words were like a dash of ice-cold water and the dark-haired wizard recoiled physically.

"I — I may have done that, yes, but it was not so that he could be brought _here_ to feast on the first years."

"Even for you, Severus, that statement is unfair," the Headmaster said sternly. "Remus finds the idea of hurting anyone as abhorrent as you do."

"But it still does not change the fact that having him here is a risk to the safety of everyone at Hogwarts and in Hogsmeade."

Albus hesitated for just a moment then said, "He needs healing and he needs help, Severus. Hogwarts has always opened its doors to any student who seeks sanctuary."

"And Lupin is asking this of you?" Severus sneered.

"He is in no condition to ask."

"You pity him," Snape made no attempt to hide his derision.

"You should as well," Albus said calmly.

Fury ignited within the dark eyes. "He nearly killed me! Forgive me if I find it a little difficult to feel sorry for him!"

"He is more like you than you know, Severus. It would do you both good if you both learned to put your anger and distrust aside and —"

"I refuse to even listen to such a ridiculous idea!" Snape rose to his feet. "I am not going to sit by that – _creature's_ bedside and hold his hand for the sake of becoming his – best mate." Scorn positively dripped from the last two words. "And how _dare_ you even insinuate that I could be anything like – _him_!"

"Severus, if you would just –"

The Potions master spun on his heel and started for the door, but Dumbledore's next statement froze him in his tracks. "You _will_ hear what I need from you, Severus."

"I have already done enough for him. You cannot ask me to do any more," the younger man said over his shoulder.

"I can, and I will."

Snape turned quickly to face the Headmaster. "You push me too far."

Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't even spoken. "You will need to make two potions every other day: one for pain, the other to promote healing. The list of ingredients and the instructions are on my desk. I know you more than likely have that information in your library, but I thought I would make it somewhat easier on you."

"Can you not find someone else to make these things for your pet werewolf?" Severus asked as viciously as he could.

"Why should I ask anyone else when I have a pet Death Eater, who happens to be a master of Potions, at my convenience?" Dumbledore countered coolly.

"Damn you," Snape whispered.

"You don't think you're the first one to say that to me, do you?" the Headmaster asked.

"He — almost — _murdered _— me!" Severus protested again. "And you made me keep my silence! He got the education you wanted for him, and I was forced to look at him for two more years and know what he was, what he was capable of — and now you ask me to do more?"

"What happened was not his fault," Albus reminded him. "And to his credit, he offered to leave. No, Severus. The fault lies with Sirius Black, not Remus Lupin. It is unfair to make Remus suffer further for that one terrible incident."

"You always took up for him, and Black, and Potter — and to _hell_ with whatever I wanted or needed!"

Dumbledore sighed. "And what is it you need now, Severus? Do you need to deny Remus the help _he_ needs? Do you need to show a lack of mercy in order to prove to him that you don't think he was punished enough all those years ago? Do you need to prove something to me?"

"You order me around as if you were the Dark Lord himself," Severus snarled. "'Make a potion to do this' and 'Make a potion to do that,' all without regard to my thoughts, my feelings, my will –"

"I _expect_ you to do it because you do have mercy within you, Severus, whether or not you want to acknowledge it. I _ask_ it because you are the only one here who can do this and do it well."

"Why can't they make it at St. Mungo's and bring it here?" And with that question, and with the sudden flash of triumph in Dumbledore's eyes, Severus knew that he had submitted to the Headmaster's will, though he'd be _damned_ if he'd do it gracefully.

"The potions lose their potency within forty-eight hours. St. Mungo's cannot guarantee that someone can bring the doses to Remus with any reliability. There are several people there who know of your gift and suggested that you would be the perfect solution to the problem."

"And where am I supposed to get the ingredients? I'm not using what belongs to the school, and I'm not paying for them out of my own pocket. You can't expect Lupin to: we all know that werewolves are lucky to have two Knuts to rub together."

"What you need will be provided."

Snape decided to make one last attempt to repudiate this entire plan. "And if I still refuse?"

"You will not," Dumbledore said.

The Potions master took a step toward the Headmaster. "You do realize that I can only bend so far. Someday you will ask something of me, and I will break."

Dumbledore's reply was firm and almost cold: "I think I know how far you can bend until you reach that point. You will never break over someone you _pretend_ to loathe as much as Remus Lupin."

The man's arrogance robbed Severus of breath. So, rather than stand there, staring at the Headmaster in wordless disbelief, he started for the door again.

"Don't forget the instructions," Dumbledore said, ever so calmly behind him. "The hospital has provided enough for tonight and tomorrow morning. You will need to have tomorrow night's portion ready."

Severus snatched the parchment off the desk and slammed the door behind him.

**9:16 p.m.**

Remus had heard footsteps going past his room several times during the evening, so when someone actually stopped and tapped gently at his door, it startled him.

Albus Dumbledore peered in cautiously. Seeing that Remus was awake, he smiled warmly and then entered, closing the door firmly behind him. "Ah, Remus. Welcome to Hogwarts! Have you made yourself comfortable?" he asked as he settled himself into the chair next to the bed.

Remus nodded. "Yes, sir." The muscles of his back and neck had tightened at the appearance of the older wizard. While he couldn't remember even a third of what had happened this day, the memory of their last conversation at St. Mungo's was still quite clear in Remus' mind. _Underestimated and distrusted;_ _and_ _deceptive. And yet, I'm here._

"Good. We want your stay with us to be a pleasant one." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. "I seem to remember a certain young Gryffindor who always had at least one of these in his possession." His eyes danced with merriment.

The younger man accepted it with a lopsided smile. He was about to say that Dominic Alatza loved Chocolate Frogs and had four of Dumbledore's cards when the thought struck him: it no longer should matter to him what Dominic loved.

The Headmaster obviously had noticed some change in his expression because he asked gently, "What is it, Remus?"

"Nothing."

Dumbledore had retrieved a hard, yellow candy from his pocket and now paused in the unwrapping of it. "Shall I get Madame Pomfrey for you?"

"No," Remus replied. He sighed, realizing he'd have to give some kind of answer. Dumbledore could be relentless when he wanted to know something. "Dominic Alatza likes these."

The Headmaster nodded in understanding and popped the candy into his mouth. "How are you feeling?"

Remus shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose."

Somewhere nearby, a door slammed and the werewolf jumped.

Dumbledore motioned to the Chocolate Frog, which the younger man held clutched in his hand. "Shall I open that for you?"

"No." Remus shook his head. "I'm really not hungry right now. Could you –?" He tilted his head toward the little table next to the bed. Dumbledore took the candy from him and laid it next to the younger man's wand.

"I suppose you were more than a bit surprised to find yourself here," the Headmaster said.

"You could say that."

Albus smiled. "I did tell you that I thought you could come here when St. Mungo's had done all they could for you."

The werewolf looked pointedly down at his bandaged leg, which rested on a cushioning spell above the covers.

"Yes, well, obviously we had to move you out of there sooner than we thought."

Remus rubbed his chin with a long forefinger and glanced at the older man tentatively once or twice before asking, "I — I remember some of what happened today, but —" He broke off abruptly, uncertain of how to continue.

Dumbledore sucked thoughtfully at the candy. "What do you remember?"

Remus swallowed hard before answering. His heart started thumping a little faster and he struggled to keep his voice even. "They were taking photos of me. They knew — where I'd been. I told them to stop, but they wouldn't. I — hurt one of them," he added softly.

"Do you remember Alastor Moody coming in?"

The younger man closed his eyes briefly. "I know someone did. I didn't know it was him."

"Do you remember anything after that?" Dumbledore asked.

Remus massaged his forehead with his fingers. "It's all — blurry." He met the Headmaster's gaze. "Did I hurt him badly?"

"The man who was taking photos of you?"

Remus nodded.

"No, you didn't. You didn't throw him against the wall hard enough, according to Alastor." Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for him to chuckle or make a comment, but Remus wasn't sure what to do or say. After a moment, the Headmaster cleared his throat and continued in a softer tone, "You asked Alastor not to tell Bill what you had done."

The werewolf let his hand slide down to cover his eyes. _I went mad. I can't remember a bloody thing because I went stark raving mad. _But then another, uglier thought shot through his brain and he lowered his hand quickly. "Did I lose control completely? Did I lose _myself_?"

"No, Remus," Dumbledore assured him. "At no point today did we see any sign that you were anything other than a very frightened young man."

While the Headmaster's words brought him some comfort, there was still the fact that he had completely forgotten where he was and hadn't been able to recognize Moody — and Merlin only knew who else. What else had he done? Did he want to know? _Now we can add mad and unpredictable to the list. Dangerous, untrustworthy, deceptive, underestimated, mad, and unpredictable. _

Dumbledore was speaking again and Remus silenced his inner voice to focus on what the man was saying. "Alastor brought it to our attention that if one person recognized you, there might be others."

Remus muttered a word that the Headmaster would never have approved of.

Either the older wizard hadn't heard the curse or he chose to ignore it. "So, we thought we'd allow you to finish your recovery here, where, hopefully, there is less of a chance that you'll be disturbed."

Thinking of the crowds that had seen him that summer, Remus commented, "Children are more observant than adults. Being here might turn out to be worse."

"I can threaten the children with detentions or expulsions," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I cannot do the same with the employees at St. Mungo's."

"Is there no where else?" Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. _Shouldn't have even wasted the breath on that question._

"If you can think of a place or of someone who can help, tell me. We will see what can be arranged."

No, he would have to resign himself to staying here — and hope that Dumbledore realized that the full moon was in only two weeks… "How long will I have to stay?"

"It all very much depends on how long it takes your leg to heal," the Headmaster replied.

"I'll be here for months." He made no attempt to hide his bitterness at that fact.

"Then you'll be here for Christmas. You can help Hagrid and Filius decorate the Great Hall." The Headmaster's eyes sparkled mischievously. "And while I think you should probably refrain from charming the garland to wrap itself around the Slytherins' ankles, I wouldn't mind seeing the tap-dancing reindeer again."

Remus didn't even bother to wonder how the man knew either one of those pranks were his. "Siri—" He stopped and took a breath. _He was my friend. My life was tied to his for all those years. There's no shame in remembering the good times._ He started again."Sirius wanted to charm the garland to wrap itself around the Slytherins' necks."

"Then I suppose I should be grateful that you were the voice of reason in that particular case."

Considering the conversation the day before, that statement, now, was as if salt was being poured into an open wound. "Of course, but that's why you made me a prefect in the first place, right?" Remus snapped. "You thought I could control Sirius and James." He chuckled bitterly. "Gods, considering how well that went, no wonder you didn't think I was capable of doing the right thing for the Order."

He almost missed the slight narrowing of Dumbledore's eyes as the man said with his usual calm: "I knew you were more than capable of carrying out whatever duties you were assigned."

"Including whatever duties I was assigned by Voldemort." The anger that underscored the comment made the Headmaster flinch slightly.

"Remus, had I known you were going to take this so badly, I would never have —"

"How else was I supposed to take it?" the werewolf demanded. "You didn't trust me! You didn't stand up for me!" He started to sit up, winced, and fell back, swearing violently.

Dumbledore's thick eyebrows rose and he shifted the candy from one the inside of one cheek to the other. "You're absolutely right. However, you need to remember how things were at that time. Things were not going as well as we hoped —"

"Things were going to all-bloody hell," Remus said. "And everyone thought I was the one sending them there."

"No. Not everyone," Dumbledore contradicted him gently. "Lily defended you up until the last."

Pressure engulfed Remus' chest and he winced at the force of it. Before he could say anything, however, the Headmaster stood and said, "I think it would be best if we left this conversation for another time."

"To give you time to come up with explanations and justifications?" Remus couldn't find the breath to snap at the older man like he wanted.

Dumbledore seemed to consider the question briefly. "Yes, in a way. I need to be able to explain myself better to you. But, mostly, tonight, I am unprepared to handle any of your self-recriminations about things that happened four years ago."

Remus lifted his startled gaze to meet the other wizard's. "Self-recrimination?"

"In the days following James' and Lily's deaths, you found more reasons to blame yourself than to blame Sirius," the Headmaster reminded him. "I doubt this conversation would be any different than the few we had in those months following the night they died."

"So I'm irrational as well as untrustworthy and mad," Remus said bitterly. "And let's not forget deceptive."

Dumbledore stood staring at him for a moment then shook his head. "Oh, Remus. You are no more any of those things than any other man. And you do have great gifts. Your loyalty to your friends knows no bounds, and you demand excellence from yourself in whatever you do. The last few months have hurt you in more ways than I know — and perhaps more than you know. Let's see you well, and then you and I can have this discussion about how dangerous truths can lead to damaging perceptions. But remember: you have proven yourself over and over to be a true Gryffindor and a true friend."

Remus had no idea what to say, but felt his eyelids prickle with tears that he refused to shed. Dumbledore leaned over and patted his shoulder gently. "We'll talk tomorrow of lesser things. Good night, Remus."

And with that, the older wizard left the room, leaving Remus to dark and disordered thoughts.

**Friday, 13 September—9:32 a.m.**

Alastor Moody stood on one side of Remus' bed, Terry Garrison on the other.

"I know you're still not feeling all that good, Lupin, but there are some things Garrison and I need to talk to you about."

Remus looked from one to the other, his eyes wary. "What about?"

Moody gave him a look of something akin to disbelief. "What do you think, boy? We need to talk to you about what happened to you while you were at that carnival."

The werewolf closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder. "I don't know that I can tell you much."

"Anything you tell us will help," the older Auror said. "I want to get them on as many charges as I can."

He plopped himself in the chair next to the bed and glanced at Garrison. The younger man went to the desk and conjured some parchment, ink, and a quill, nodding at his partner that he was ready to take notes.

"Does it really matter?" Remus asked. "I'm not there now."

"They stole three months of your life," Moody snapped, "as well as that job you had with Alatza. They bloody owe you _something_."

"I'll never get anything out of it," Remus said calmly. "I know that. You know that. So what's the point?"

"It's justice," Garrison replied before Moody could say anything else. "You have the chance to be heard; to tell what happened. You might be surprised at what could come of it. Besides," he gave the werewolf a quick grin, "it's our job."

Again, Remus tried to protest. "I really don't know how much I remember."

"Four or five years ago, you knew how to remember things that would make a difference," Moody said mercilessly. "You'll remember what you need to now."

"We'll start with the easy things first," Garrison said. "What's your full name?"

Remus sighed. "Remus John Lupin. Does Dumbledore know you're here?"

"Do you think I'd be up here if he didn't?" Moody countered.

"Mr Lupin, since this is an official interview, what is your Registration number?" Garrison continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

Remus rattled off the numbers. "Do you want to see the tattoo, too?" he added sardonically.

"That's not necessary," the young Auror said. "Are you currently employed?"

"No." Remus looked over at Moody. "Didn't you tell him all this? You know the answers as well as I do."

"It's all part of the official record, Lupin," Moody replied.

"Is this going to take long?"

The Auror's magical eye spun wildly in its socket. "As long as it takes."

"Last employer?"

"Oh, for — you already know this! What does this have to do with anything anyhow?" Remus asked impatiently.

"These questions aren't to your liking? Fine, then," Moody said, leaning forward. "Tell me what happened on the fourth of June. Who came to get you out of Alatza's shed?"

Remus froze, his eyes suddenly wide.

Garrison waited, his quill hovering above the parchment in dreadful anticipation.

"Don't like that question? Then tell me how many of them there were," Moody ordered. "And don't tell me you don't remember. I know of at least four times when you were at the wrong end of a cursing or a beating, and you were able to tell me exactly how many people were there and what they were wearing."

"Gods," whispered Remus. Neither Garrison nor Moody knew if it was a plea or a curse.

"Come on, Lupin, before Garrison's fingers fall asleep."

"There were four of them," Remus finally muttered. "I knew one of them."

"Who?" Moody's penetrating eyes were both focussed on Remus, unnerving the werewolf.

"Bernard Carmichael."

The Auror leaned back with a satisfied smirk on his scarred face. "That's my lad."

**12:22 p.m.**

Alastor Moody aimed his wand at the stone gargoyle blocking the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Move out of my way or I'll blast you into pebbles," he growled.

The gargoyle hesitated for a moment then leaped nimbly out of the way.

Garrison looked at his partner and smiled. "You're good."

"Was there ever any doubt of that?" Moody asked.

The younger man chuckled to himself as they walked through the door and onto the moving steps. His partner had a wicked sense of humour, and it always revealed itself in outrageous displays such as this one.

Professor Dumbledore was sitting behind the massive, claw-footed desk when they entered. "Well?"

Moody sank into a chair in front of the Headmaster's desk, and pointed for Garrison to sit in the chair next to him. "Well, even after all he's been through, Lupin is still Lupin," he announced. "Stubborn bastard. Garrison and I had a talk on the way up and we're in agreement: Lupin didn't tell us everything."

Dumbledore sat back and began stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"He's been treated badly, Merlin knows," the younger Auror said. "It should be obvious to anyone – even to the Wizengamot – that he was held against his will. He's reluctant to tell us much about his time there, though. We had to fight for every word we got out of him."

"Typical Lupin," Moody muttered.

"He verified that he took care of the creatures there. He told us Bentley's son, Gerry, helped him for a while until the hippogriff attacked the boy. Then he said that one of the workers, Wally, helped him. I don't think he thought much of Wally," Garrison added in an aside to his partner.

The older man shook his head. "No. He did not."

Dumbledore caught Moody's eye, and his eyebrows rose inquiringly.

"You know how that boy is. If he doesn't like something, he'll damn it with faint praise. This time, though, he straight out said that Wally was as stupid as a hippogriff's arse."

Terry stifled a chuckle.

The Headmaster's hand paused in mid-stroke. "He used that particular phrase, Alastor?" he asked with a smile.

"Close enough," Moody said with a negligent shrug.

"He told us that sometimes the creatures were drugged to keep them calm," Garrison commented. "That would explain how they were able to safely contain an Erumpent. It makes sense they'd use it on the hippogriff, too. He even admitted they drugged a centaur that was there in order to keep it calm." His speculative tone disappeared, and he suddenly leaned forward and spoke more briskly. "I have a question though. We were all three there at the carnival. That cage across from his was marked for a centaur. So we know there had to have been one there. He admitted it. But every time we tried to talk about it, he'd change the subject. Why?"

"There is something odd about him and that centaur," Moody acknowledged. "I did ask him where it was now, and he said it was free. But I can't see either Bentley or Parsons just letting it go..."

Dumbledore leaned forward and placed his folded hands on the desktop. "The centaur is dead. I do know that."

"Did Lupin tell you that?" Moody asked sharply.

"He was… distressed when Severus first found him. He apparently told Severus he wanted to 'go with Libertas.' When I got there, Severus mentioned the name 'Libertas,' and Remus got rather… agitated." He paused. "I didn't use _Legilimency_ on him, but the images coming from him were so strong it couldn't be helped."

"Why the hell didn't he tell us that?" Moody huffed in frustration. "Why can't he get it through his thick skull that it makes things so much more difficult when he hides things? I should go right back down there and kick him in the tail until he —"

"Alastor." The Headmaster held up his hand to stop the Auror's ranting. "No." He sighed softly. "I think — no, I know — that Remus has taken the centaur's death to heart: to the point that he feels somehow responsible for it. I don't know what happened, exactly, but he did say to me that he 'didn't want to do it.'"

Moody sat back, tension flowing through every line of his scarred body. "Damn it, Albus! That makes it sounds as if Lupin _killed_ the creature!"

"If he did," the Headmaster said quietly, "it was because he had no choice. Remus is not a killer by nature."

"He is once a month," the young Auror muttered.

The two older men looked at him sharply.

"Sorry." He shrugged.

The Headmaster plucked a stray thread from the sleeve of his robe and twirled it between his fingers. "You know Remus as well as I do, Alastor. Has he ever taken a life without balancing it against his own soul?"

Terry Garrison stared at his partner, waiting nearly breathlessly for the reply.

The older Auror's shoulders slumped. "You're right. But I still don't like it. If someone mentions the death of the centaur to the Ministry —" He broke off, shaking his head.

"It would be classified as killing a beast, not a being," Garrison pointed out.

The two older men stared at him with varying shades of disbelief.

He shrugged. "It doesn't have the penalties attached with killing a person."

Dumbledore and Moody continued staring at him until he began to squirm inwardly – and just a tad bit outwardly as well.

The older Auror finally huffed impatiently and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. "Of course, we shouldn't be looking for trouble when there isn't any. He may not have done a thing to the centaur."

"True," Albus agreed, sitting back in his chair and resuming the stroking of his beard. "So what else did you discover?"

"Going back to the Torpeus Draught for a moment: I had to ask him several times if he'd been drugged," Moody said. "If you hadn't told me, Albus, I wouldn't have known he had been, by what he said. It wasn't until I told him I knew about it before he finally admitted it."

"He was quite upset about it, though," Terry reported.

"Not that I blame him," the older Auror commented. "It would be hell to know you don't remember days of your life: what you'd done, what was done to you…"

"It is a bitter thing, to know all control and all memory has been taken from you," Dumbledore said softly. "Especially for Remus, who finds it a constant struggle to control himself."

"It wasn't his fault, though," Alastor insisted. "Why can't he see that the use of the Torpeus Draught proves beyond a doubt that he'd been kept there against his will? We can use that information to charge Parsons with kidnapping! Or at least with unlawful imprisonment!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Alastor, what is one of the biggest concerns Remus has?"

"The bloody full moon," Moody answered quickly and almost dismissively.

"More than anything, he fears being considered an animal and not a human being," the Headmaster corrected him. "Now, think about what others were given the Torpeus Draught: the Erumpent, the hippogriff, the Re'em…" He waited for Moody to reach the same conclusion he had.

It only took a couple of seconds. "He can't possibly think we'd think of him as an _animal_. Could he?"

It was rare that the Auror seemed even slightly unsure of himself, and Dumbledore smiled in spite of everything. "I believe that is exactly what he started thinking of himself," he said. "We both know, Alastor, that if someone is repeatedly told something, especially if it's something he already fears to be true, he will believe it. Why would Remus be any different?"

"And so, it took only three months to make a smart boy like that one believe he's an animal," Moody said acerbically.

"Exactly," the Headmaster agreed sadly.

**A new school year just started, and I had 17 kindergartners in my classroom. I've already chewed four fingernails down to where it's painful. A review just might save a fingernail -- and my sanity... Please?**


	19. Chapter 18:Falling Apart

A/N: Another chapter that Zarathustra and SortingHat47 have done their best to make this perfect. Thank you, ladies!  
And thank all of you who have reviewed or put this story on alert or into their favorites!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sigh. Janny is, though. Think I could get her to come clean my house? Didn't think so.

**Chapter 18: Falling Apart**

**Saturday, 14 September 1985—4:17 p.m.**

Severus Snape came to a stop in front of the Headmaster and glared at him wordlessly.

"Yes, Severus?"

"Here." Two bottles were withdrawn from the folds of the Potions master's robes and thrust almost angrily at Dumbledore. "The potions you ordered, _sir_."

The older wizard hesitated for a moment before taking them. "Would you not like to take them to him yourself? So that you can verify their potency?"

"Why give me the instructions if you are going to question my ability?" Severus asked, sneeringly. "I want nothing more to do with him than this." He nodded toward the bottles. "You can take them to your pet werewolf."

The Headmaster's eyebrows lowered. "I do trust that you will refrain from saying anything about Remus – and his condition – while he is here."

"Oh, of course. We wouldn't like anyone to know there is a Dark Creature capable of ripping the students limb from limb inside the castle." And with that, Snape pivoted gracefully on his heel and walked back the way he had come.

**5:02 p.m.**

"Stay still, Mr Lupin."

Though how Madame Pomfrey expected him to remain motionless when she was trimming away the burnt and dead skin was beyond his comprehension.

She had numbed his leg with a spell before beginning the procedure, but it couldn't take away all of the pain, especially when she was trying to get down to the deeper layers of skin and bone.

He tilted his chin back so he could look at the ceiling. It hadn't changed. He was sick of looking at it.

"Good afternoon, Madame Pomfrey, Remus." The Headmaster's sudden appearance made Remus jump, and the matron rebuked him sternly.

"I do believe that was my fault for startling him," Dumbledore admitted. He came to stand on the other side of the bed, his eyes fastened on the work Pomfrey was doing. "It is looking better," he opined.

The younger man refused to look. He had seen it and didn't like what he saw. Meat in the butcher's shop window looked better than his leg did right now.

"I've come with gifts, Remus," the Headmaster said with a smile, proffering two small glass vials.

Madame Pomfrey glanced up. "Oh, good. Professor Snape got those to us just in time."

The comment took a moment to settle into Remus' mind. When it did, he had to ask, even though he dreaded the answer: "What does Snape have to do with those potions?"

Dumbledore levitated the bottles over onto the bedside table. "I asked Severus if he would make the potions for you. It seemed to be a better option to have an accomplished potions maker, who happens to be nearby, make them up rather than to rely on St. Mungo's."

Remus stared at the older wizard in sheer disbelief. "Does Snape know who they're for?"

"Of course he does."

"Then _you _drink them," Remus said. "I'm not touching them."

"Remus –"

"Half of one is probably wolfsbane," the younger man growled. "And the other one is more than likely silver nitrate."

"He would not do that," Dumbledore said. "He takes great pride in his work. He would do nothing that would jeopardize his reputation."

Remus snorted. Dumbledore surely didn't want to have a discussion about the many honours that would await Severus Snape should he kill a werewolf.

Madame Pomfrey straightened and flicked her wand at Remus' leg. Waiting cotton bandages quickly and neatly wrapped themselves the wound. "That will do until tomorrow morning, Mr Lupin." She took the first of the two bottles and uncorked it. "This is the potion for infection…"

"I'm not taking it," Remus said. "He's wanted me dead from our fifth year."

Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle. "He believes the same of you, you know."

_Then what would stop him from adding wolfsbane to whatever he gives me? _The Headmaster's eyes were kind, but there was something behind them that told Remus not to continue protesting. _Fine. You want me to drink it? You want me dead? It would be a hell of a lot easier on me too. _Without a word, he reached for the bottle that Pomfrey was offering to him.

It tasted awful. He couldn't help but shudder. He held out the empty bottle for the matron to take and grabbed the second one. He knocked it back in one quick swallow then pointed to the glass of water sitting on the bedside table.

"See? You're still with us," Dumbledore said with a smile, levitating the glass to him without spilling a single drop.

"Give it some time to work," Remus retorted. He took a drink of water, swishing it around inside his mouth for a moment to get rid of the taste of the potion. "I think my tongue's going numb." It was a classic telltale sign of aconite poisoning. Of course, the taste alone could have deadened every single taste bud in his mouth.

"You know, the two of you have more in common than you think," Dumbledore said, sounding thoughtful.

Remus hoped the expression on his face was every bit as sceptical as he felt at that pronouncement.

"You should talk to him," the Headmaster suggested.

"I'm sure he's quite eager to do that." Remus took another drink of water and handed the glass back to the older man. "Do tell him to stop in this evening for a chat and a game of wizard chess."

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed the tiniest bit at the sarcasm in the younger man's tone. Instead of commenting, however, he focused on the glass, floating it back to its original spot on the table.

"I'll have the house elves bring your dinner," Madame Pomfrey said, picking up a carpetbag that contained her supplies. "I'll peek in on you in a bit to settle you in for the night."

"She likes having you back," Dumbledore commented once she was gone.

"Merlin knows why. I've been nothing but a nuisance," the younger man said quietly.

"We would never have brought you here if we thought you were going to be a 'nuisance,'" Dumbledore contradicted him. "We are glad we can help you."

Remus said nothing.

"If you decide you need something, just ring for one of the house elves." The Headmaster patted Remus on the shoulder and followed Madame Pomfrey.

**Sunday, 15 September--3:03 a.m.**

… "_Damn you, wolf! I'll teach you to use magic!" _

_The hammer rose._

_Remus yelled a single word: "NO!"_

_The hammer fell…_

He woke up, trembling and sweating, his right hand throbbing slightly. His leg felt like it was on fire. He should send for Madame Pomfrey. As he wiped the sleeve of his nightshirt across his forehead, he realized he wasn't ready to her to see him in this state. He wasn't ready for anyone to see him right now.

_I need a drink. _

The glass of water was right there on the bedside table, but he already knew it was a fingertip's length out of reach. His wand, though, was right there…

His fingertips touched the polished wood, but as he did, he heard Parson's harsh, angry voice ring through his head: _"I'll teach you to use magic!"_

He jerked his hand back quickly, as if he'd been burned. At the same time, his stomach twisted into a tight knot and bile rose in his throat.

He slumped back onto the bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Images flickered behind his eyelids: the _Waddawasi_ he had used on the boy at the carnival; the levitation charm that Bill Parsons had seen; and then, he saw his own fingers moving above the form of Libertas…

"I killed him," he whispered. "I killed him with magic. With my magic. With my hands."

Maybe he deserved to have his leg feel like it was burning off. Maybe he deserved to lose that leg altogether. And maybe he should have lost his hand too, since it was what he used to kill the centaur.

Caught in a trap of self-loathing and regret, he found himself unable to sleep.

**8:06 a.m.**

"Mr Lupin, how are you feeling today?" Madame Pomfrey was already asking the question before the door was completely open.

"Leg hurts," he said curtly. After five hours of intensifying pain, he had no tact left to be polite.

She halted in her tracks and blinked at him, looking surprisingly owlish for a moment. "Well, then, let's take a look, shall we?"

With a decisive snap of her wand, the bandages were severed and fell away from his ankle. Her hand was gentle and cool where it rested slightly above the gaping wound. "How long has it been hurting?" she asked.

He could have told her the truth. But then he would have had to come up with an explanation of why he hadn't used magic to summon her. That was something he wasn't ready to do. "An hour or so," he replied.

"Why didn't you call for me?" she asked. "I would have come down and given you something." She was already rooting around in her carpetbag.

"Didn't want to disturb you," Remus said hoarsely.

"I can't understand why that potion wore off so quickly," she mumbled to herself. "Professor Snape had the instructions."

_Does anyone in this bloody place not remember what happened between us? Oh, no, of course not. Snape "takes pride in his work." He'd not deliberately forget some willow bark or feverfew…_

Pomfrey suddenly conjured a little brass bell and rang it vigorously. In the few seconds she took to place it on the table next to Remus' wand, a house elf had appeared in front of her.

"How is Janny helping the Matron?" the elf squeaked.

"Janny, could you please go fetch Professor Snape for me?"

The house elf hesitated then managed a feeble smile. "Janny is doing her best!" She disappeared immediately.

The matron pulled a vial from the bag, uncorked it, and handed it to Remus. "That should stop the pain quickly. We'll have to ask Professor Snape to analyze the other and see what went wrong."

The liquid was thick and cold, nearly causing the young man to choke as it went down. But, as Pomfrey had said, the coldness seemed to ooze through his body almost immediately. He couldn't resist shuddering when the iciness gently touched and then blanketed the fiery nerves. A small moan of relief escaped him.

Pomfrey gave him a quick appraising look. "Next time, Mr Lupin, send for me." She motioned to the bell. "I'll leave that there. I'm surprised you didn't conjure one up for yourself. Janny would be more than happy to do for you."

"Didn't want to impose," he said weakly. He wasn't sure whether it was because the pain was gone or there was some sort of sedative in the potion, but now he felt rather boneless and tired.

"Nonsense," she said briskly. She handed him another vial of potion which he drank without question.

The matron was cleaning the wound when Severus Snape came in answer to her summons.

He stopped just inside the door, his eyes automatically drawn to what Pomfrey was doing. Remus couldn't be sure, but he thought the other man pressed his lips together just a bit more tightly as he watched the matron work.

"You wished to see me?" he drawled.

"Yes, Professor Snape, I did." Pomfrey wiped her hands on a quickly conjured towel and reached into her carpetbag. "There seems to be something wrong with the potion that you made up yesterday. Mr Lupin was in great pain this morning when I came in. He said the potion wore off more than an hour ago. I have a suspicion it was much longer than that. I thought you might like to analyze it to see where the problem lies." She pressed a small vial into his hand. "The rest of it is up in the hospital wing, should you need it."

"That is unnecessary." Snape looked at the glass bottle and seemed to be thinking very hard about something. Finally, he said, "I believe it could have been the turmeric. The packet that was given to me by the Headmaster did not seem to have the vibrant colour that I would have expected. It may not have been as freshly collected as what was noted."

"That's easily fixed, then," the matron said, resuming her work on Remus' leg.

"I will need new turmeric," the Potions master said. "You will need to inform the Headmaster."

The woman looked up at him, obviously surprised. "You don't have any other turmeric?"

The thin lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "I have informed the Headmaster that I could not, in good conscience, use what belongs to the school and its students on some_thing_ that is not part of the school."

Madame Pomfrey glanced quickly at Remus to see how he would react to the man's insult.

Remus smiled, knowing that would irritate Snape more than anything. "It's only fair, Severus. I admit I hadn't thought of the ingredients or even the cost of the potions. I'll have to speak to the Headmaster about that."

"Yes, Lupin. You do that." Speaking now to the matron, Snape said, "I will prepare the new pain potion when I get the new turmeric. Until then, you will have to rely on whatever you have at your disposal. Since the other potion had no turmeric in it, I will assume it is sufficient."

He turned to go, but the werewolf stopped him. "Could I bother you for a list of the ingredients that go into those potions, Severus?"

"As you were a terrible student in Potions, I see absolutely no reason why —"

"I'd like to know what's in them if I'm going to pay for them."

"You couldn't afford half of what goes into them," sneered the dark-haired man. "If I were you, I would just get used to the pain."

"And Dumbledore thinks I should get to know him," thought Remus as Snape walked out.

Little did he know that Severus was thinking the exact same thing.

**11:25 a.m.**

Dumbledore sighed as he watched the door close behind Poppy Pomfrey. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to bring Remus here. There was nothing worse than when his Potions master was in a snit, and Severus was now in a state of simmering agitation. It wasn't anything that the Headmaster couldn't handle himself; but he did pity Snape's students and colleagues. And now there was Remus to consider. Would his emotional and mental well-being stand up to Severus' sarcasm?

The Headmaster sat back in the chair and looked at Fawkes. "Perhaps they are too much alike."

The phoenix cocked his head to one side and cheeped.

**12:41 p.m.**

Remus was sitting with his back against the headboard, the book on his lap forgotten.

He could see only sky from where he was, so he guessed he was on the side of the castle that overlooked the lake. The September sky was gloomy and grey — much like he felt. A lone seabird wheeled on the currents of air, twisting this way and that.

Remus envied the bird.

There was a knock at the door, and Dumbledore's bearded visage peered in. "May I come in?" he asked pleasantly.

Remus sighed inwardly. He was still tired from his lack of sleep last night, and already weary of the conversation he knew they were going to have. "Please," he motioned to the chair next to the bed.

A long, narrow piece of parchment with dark, angular handwriting was lying on the bedside table, covering Remus' wand. "Is that the list of potions ingredients?" Dumbledore asked, picking it up and studying it.

Remus nodded. Then, drawing a deep breath, he said, "Madame Pomfrey spoke to you."

The bright blue eyes sparkled. "Of course. She wanted to know if she could go to Diagon Alley for some fresh turmeric, or if I wanted her to send Hagrid."

"I can't afford to pay for those things," Remus admitted, nodding toward the list.

"No one has asked you to do so," Dumbledore said gently.

There was a moment while the younger man considered his next words. "It was strongly suggested that perhaps I should."

"Remus, what Severus says is not what I –"

"Actually, sir, I have to say I agree with him on this particular issue."

"You would rather go without the potions that will make you well unless you can pay for them?"

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore sat back and folded his hands in his lap. "Well, you have made your opinion known to me, and I will relay the message."

Remus tilted his head slightly. "'Relay the message'?"

"When Severus discussed his concerns with me about the ingredients in your potions, someone very kindly offered to pay for them."

Before Remus could respond, there was a soft popping noise, and a house elf appeared. She saw Dumbledore and her eyes widened. "Oh, I is sorry, Headmaster, sir! I is just stopping in to ask what Remus Lupin is wanting for lunch, sir."

"I'm not hungry," Remus said quickly, keeping his eyes on the Headmaster. "Who offered to pay?"

"That person would prefer to remain anonymous at this time," Dumbledore said. "Is there anything in particular you'd like for lunch? The stew was especially good today."

"Don't I have the right to know who I'm indebted to?" Remus countered.

The older wizard smiled at the house elf. "Janny, isn't it?" Her head bobbed up and down several times. "I think Remus Lupin would very much appreciate some beef stew and some of that delicious newly-baked bread."

"No, I told you —" Remus began.

Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him and said slowly but emphatically, "Janny, some beef stew and bread for Mr Lupin, if you'd please?"

The house elf gave Remus a wide-eyed glance then disappeared.

"Don't I have any say at all in anything that happens to me?" Remus exploded, picking up the book on his lap and tossing it rather carelessly to the bottom of the bed.

"When it comes to what needs to be done in order to get you well again, no," Dumbledore said firmly.

Anger slashed through Remus, as deeply and sharply as claws, and a growl vibrated deep in his throat.

"Control yourself, Remus," the Headmaster said to him. The order was delivered almost casually, but there was a tightening of the skin at the corners of the old wizard's eyes that made Remus realise that Dumbledore was slightly rattled.

Perhaps the wolf, sensing the older man's uncertainty, had more control than either of them knew, but Remus couldn't stop himself now if he wanted to. His eyes narrowed and he stared directly into the Headmaster's eyes. "You bring me here without asking me. You order Snape to make potions for me — when I know damned well he wants nothing to do with it, and I sure as hell don't want it either! You demand that I take your charity — and not once have you stopped to consider that I won't do this! Not once have you stopped to think I _can't_ do this!" Remus' voice had risen with every word until he was yelling at Dumbledore as loudly as he'd ever yelled at anyone.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed angrily. "I will not let you die, though I'm sure you're going to stubbornly maintain that you have the right to decide to —"

Remus interrupted him. "You're no better than Bill Parsons. I'm nothing but a creature to you — a dumb, injured creature that needs to be healed at all costs. You'll shove the potions down my throat and —"

While the younger man spoke, the Headmaster rose to his feet and took a step closer to the bed. Towering over the werewolf, he demanded, "You dare compare me to Bill Parsons?"

"I do," Remus snapped. "You make choices that should be _mine_ to make, and expect me to be thankful for it. You tell me where I should be, when I should eat, even —" he chuckled bitterly, "— what I should eat. And you expect me to lay here and just take it."

"Because you are too stubborn and too proud to accept that these are things that will help you! Are you so willing to suffer pain and the possibility of being permanently crippled for the sake of pride, Remus? Are you willing to die for the fault of your obstinacy?"

"I'm willing to die for the sake of being able to make a bloody choice for myself!" shouted Remus, hoarsely. "Gods, I can't even —"

At that moment, Janny popped into the room, holding a tray full of food in her tiny hands. She seemed to feel the tension in the room immediately and her ears flattened against her head.

Remus took one look at the tray and gave a ferocious snarl. His hand shot out, palm outward, and then moved straight up sharply.

It was as if someone jerked the tray out of the little being's hands. It flew up and over her head, smashing into the wardrobe and wall behind her.

For a moment, there was silence as all three of them stared at the mess of gravy and bits of beef and vegetables that dripped from the vertical surfaces into puddles on the floor.

Then Remus could feel his stomach lurch, and he twisted his body just in time to expel what remained of his breakfast onto the floor.

When he was finished, he collapsed where he was on the edge of the bed, his back turned to Dumbledore, unable and unwilling to face the older wizard.

His blood was still hot with anger, but now he turned the anger on himself. _I lost control. I attacked a bleeding house elf! What is happening to me? _

The implications were horrifying. His father had lectured him several times about controlling the feral, bloodthirsty being that always lay just below the surface of his consciousness. John Lupin had always warned him that every ounce of self-control that Remus lost would be devoured by the wolf. "It will be harder to take back what you give up," the elder Lupin had said. "Better to learn to control every thought, every word, every action, every _thing_ now, because it will be damned near impossible to take back what you give up without fighting tooth and nail."

_I lost my temper. I didn't even think… What is wrong with me? _

And immediately after that, his body had reacted so violently, as if it were punishing him for daring to use magic at all…

_I can't control my anger. I can't control what I'm doing…_

A hand was placed gently on his shoulder. "Remus?"

_James would try to talk me through this. Peter would tell me everything will be all right. Sirius would yell at me. But I can't do this anymore. It's too much for me._

He desperately wanted Lily and James here. If he had them back, Peter would be here as well. And if the three of them were here, then that would mean Sirius wouldn't have betrayed them, and he'd be here too. And, maybe, between the lot of them, they'd figure out why Remus wasn't… right. Maybe.

"Remus, say something."

_If my Dad were here, he could explain to me why it's so difficult, why I can't make sense of anything. He could tell me why I'm so angry all the time. He'd help me get things — myself — under control. He always had the answers._

The hand shook him slightly. "Remus, you must say something."

Remus rolled onto his back and looked up into the worried eyes of Dumbledore. "I want my dad," he whispered. And then he started sobbing uncontrollably.

Dumbledore hesitated for just a moment. Remus had never been one for extreme emotional displays. The times when he had been openly emotional, whether furious or joyful or unhappy, were few and far between, and when they did appear, they were typically short in duration. Remus would somehow seem to 'catch' himself being emotional, and the mask of neutrality would slide back into place.

So, Dumbledore waited for just enough time to pass that made him realize that Remus was not going to be able to bring himself under control. Then he reached for the young man and pulled him up into a firm embrace and let him cry himself into exhaustion.

**Monday, 16 September--1:37 a.m.**

Madame Pomfrey carefully opened the door, but she hadn't needed to be as silent as she was. Remus was still sleeping, though not peacefully.

The frail light that she had allowed at the tip of the wand was just enough to shine on sweat-slicked skin, and he was muttering indecipherably. As she neared the bed, his good leg moved restlessly, and he gripped the blankets tightly in his long fingers.

"I can't…" he mumbled. "Don't…"

She reached for his shoulder, either to touch him lightly or to shake him out of the nightmare he was obviously having. Before she could, however, he whimpered loudly, cried out, "No!" and opened his eyes, instantly awake and panting as if he'd run for miles.

The light made him squint and look away from her. She lowered her wand and put her hand on his damp forehead. "Mr Lupin," she said quietly.

He spat out a harsh curse that sounded like it was coming from a throat lined with jagged glass, and jerked his head away from her touch.

She lit the lantern on the table and he winced, throwing his arm across his eyes to block the light. "Are you in any pain?" she asked gently, as she filled a glass with water.

He lowered his arm slowly. "Some," he admitted, still somewhat breathlessly.

She helped him sit up and handed the glass to him, although his hand was trembling and she wondered if perhaps she was making a mistake in not holding on to either the glass or his hand. But she also knew how impatient he became when he was denied the ability to do things on his own. Always a stubborn boy, Remus Lupin, and the man was even more so.

He drained the glass quickly, and when she handed him the pain potion, he took it without complaint or comment. As he did, she began rummaging in her carpetbag for something else. She took out a small vial and uncorked it carefully. "Here. Drink this one too."

"What's it for?"

"This one is to help you sleep."

"I don't need –"

"I know what you look like when you're exhausted," she told him. "And it's so dark around your eyes that it looks as if you're wearing a mask. It will also help you sleep without dreaming." She hesitated for a moment and then said quietly, "You need this."

He stared at her. "No dreams?"

"No."

He downed it without another question.

**There. How's this chapter?**


	20. Chapter 19:Contempt

**A/N: **I wanted to again thank Zarathustra for all her beta-ing, and SortingHat 47, whose advice is like gold. Thanks to those of you who are still with me through this epic of mine…

I love arguments between Lupin and Snape. They're so very, very fun... I may have to write up another one. Or two. (Snickering loudly at what I know that you don't... yet).

**Disclaimer: **Not my characters. They're J.K. Rowling's, put into a situation of my choice. Poor Remus…

**Chapter 19: Contempt**

**Tuesday, 17 September, 1985--3:15 p.m.**

"No, Alastor. You can't question Remus further. Not now. Not today."

The Auror seemed surprised. "What's wrong with today?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "He's not feeling well."

Moody's eye narrowed. "Why do I think that's an understatement?"

"Because it is," the Headmaster said with a sigh.

"What's happened?"

Dumbledore tapped the fingers of his right hand on the arm of his chair. "We both remember what he was like in the first two or three months following the Potters' deaths. I don't think I'd be incorrect in saying he's in much the same frame of mind right now."

"That bad?" Moody asked, his voice betraying the dismay that his face would never show.

"And there's more," the Headmaster suddenly admitted, placing his elbows on his desk and leaning forward as if preparing to confide in the Auror. "I think he's developed an aversion to magic."

"How —?"

"I should have wondered if there was a problem when I first handed him his wand, and he didn't do anything with it. He didn't seem to care that he had it back at all. Instead, we ended up discussing the fact that Alatza had hired another tutor, and I thought nothing more of it. Now, looking back on the days since I've returned his wand to him, I know he hasn't performed even one voluntary spell with his wand. Not even a simple levitation charm."

"He used magic to defend himself at St. Mungo's," Moody pointed out.

"Yes, and we both know the emotional and mental devastation that caused. Still, I never thought it was magic itself that was causing the problem. Even when you said that he had been punished for using magic." Dumbledore said. "Sunday, however, he got angry and used magic. Again, just as it was at St. Mungo's, it was purely instinctive and purely defensive — wandless and non-verbal, as a young child might do—and it made him physically ill."

"It wasn't a reaction to pain or the potions that made him sick?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. He was extremely distressed after the incident, much as he was at St. Mungo's, though he never forgot where he was. But he told me he hadn't meant to do it and —"

"What exactly did he do?"

"He threw a tray of food against the wall." The Headmaster made a waving gesture with his hand, as if dismissing the act as being inconsequential. "But his reaction to using magic was immediate and, in a way, frightening." The older wizard sighed. "I'm quite worried about him, Alastor."

"Have you talked to Pomfrey about him?"

"She has also noticed he hasn't done any magic. He isn't sleeping or eating well, either, she says. Both are atypical of what he was like as a student. It would appear he doesn't seem interested in getting well."

Alastor was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fastened on Dumbledore's. Then, quietly, he said, "We've both seen this before, Albus. Fighters after a war, victims after a crime — it's common enough."

"Healer Weimer was not surprised he was not fully in control of the Dark part of himself," the Headmaster admitted. "He used the word 'traumatized.' So, yes, it was not necessarily unexpected. But to give up magic altogether, Alastor?"

"How close is he to being healed?"

"Poppy says that she can start using more aggressive healing spells on his leg within two or three days. If she rushes the process, she said the skin will close before the muscle beneath it has time to heal. That would leave a hole under the skin –"

Moody winced.

"— Which would be a perfect breeding ground for infection."

"So she has to heal it from the inside out?" the Auror clarified.

"Exactly." Dumbledore took a candy out of the little silver box on his desk and began to unwrap it. "It is looking better. She said she could have him up and walking by the beginning of next week."

"That's what he needs," Moody commented. "He needs to be up and moving and doing something. Do you have something to keep him busy?"

Albus chuckled, but it was without humour. "I was going to have him reset and strengthen some of the wards around the school. I don't know how I can interest him in that now, knowing it's going to make him ill."

"How do we get him over this?" Moody asked.

His tone was ambiguous. Dumbledore wasn't sure if he meant it to be rhetorical or if he really wanted to know. "I'm not certain. Our time may be limited. I fear that the minute he's on his feet, he'll choose to leave."

"We can't let him just go like that, with no —Merlin's balls, Albus," the Auror gasped. "What is he going to do at the full moon if he doesn't use magic? I know he had some really strong wards and charms set at Alatza's. If he doesn't set wards, he'll have to come to the Ministry for his transformation. What are the chances he'd do that?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "I know he did it once. The person who told me that said he would never do that again, that it was unbearable."

"So, if he doesn't — or won't — go to the Ministry, and won't do magic to keep himself safely locked up —" Moody hesitated, not wanting to voice the only option that now lay ugly and exposed between them.

Dumbledore's eyebrows lowered and he scowled.

"He's going to get himself killed," the Auror said quietly. "The Ministry'll have a werewolf hunter after him in no time if he's running loose." He swore again. "The lad's going to commit suicide, using a werewolf hunter as the weapon."

**Monday, 23 September—11:15 a.m.**

He was weak. Weaker than he thought he'd be. And he had only six days before the next full moon. Six days – less than one week – to get to the point that the wolf wouldn't be frustrated by its weakness and injuries. He smiled, though there was no amusement in it. _Less than a week to be less weak. James would appreciate the pun._

Still, he was now able to get out of bed and limp up and down the hallway right outside his door. He timed it so that there was little or no chance that any of the students could see him. It was a self-imposed restriction. Considering the tenuous hold he felt he had on his control, it seemed better not to expose himself to any questions or comments from curious teenagers.

Dumbledore had asked him to sit at the staff table at meals, but he hadn't felt up to it. The thought of sitting at the same table with Severus Snape wouldn't have done much for his nearly non-existent appetite. Still, he had to admit the thought was starting to sound a bit more appealing. He was tired of eating his meals by himself. And the added incentive that Snape would be just as put off by his appearance might be worth the hassle of limping all the way down to the Great Hall.

His knuckles were white on the head of the cane as he neared the window at the end of the hall, where he sometimes stood to watch the students talking and laughing in the courtyard. When he stood there watching them, it was so easy to forget that Sirius was in Azkaban and that James, Lily, and Peter were dead. It was easy to forget that he wasn't a student again… that the only thing he had to worry about was Potions and the next essay that was due for Charms and the next full moon.

"There you are, Lupin!"

Remus turned, recognizing the voice.

Moody was striding quickly toward him, his glance appraising. "You're looking good."

The younger man smiled lopsidedly. "In comparison to a couple of weeks ago, perhaps."

"It looks like you're on your way to being well again."

Remus chuckled humourlessly. "Yes, well..." He rubbed the back of his head. "It's a bit difficult not to get well when you've got potions being stuffed down your throat two or three times a day." He motioned to a bench not far from them.

They sat down and Moody reached for the cane, turning it around and running his hands over it. "I once knew a man who had his wand placed into his cane. He said it was impossible to do anything when you had a cane in one hand and your wand in the other hand." He flicked a curious glance at Remus. "I hope you've remembered not to keep your bloody wand in your back pocket."

"No. You taught me better than that," the younger man laughed. "I'm not ready for that lecture again."

"Good." The Auror handed the cane back to Remus who leaned it on the bench between them. "Never could get Black to stop doing it, though."

Remus' jaw tensed, but he managed to speak in his normal tone: "No, not completely."

A full minute ticked by, though neither man seemed to notice as they were each lost in their own thoughts.

"Anyhow," Moody suddenly said, slapping his knee. "I wanted to come and tell you what's happening with your case."

"My case?" Remus reared back, his eyes widening.

"Of course."

The werewolf snorted in derision. "You mean a case actually exists?"

"I couldn't let this go," Moody snapped. "They needed to pay somehow. I've tried to get Carmichael too, but he's still somewhere on the continent. Bloody bastard's probably into the next continent, actually."

Remus leaned back with a sigh. "There's no reason for you to do this, you know. Nothing will ever come of this and –"

"Actually, you're wrong," the Auror said, a smile brightening his scarred face. "They've offered to pay you twice of what you would have made with Alatza for the three months you were with them."

Staring thoughtfully at Moody, the younger man rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. "And in exchange for this, they get — what, exactly?"

"Well, we drop the kidnapping charges against them, as well as the unlawful restraint."

"What charges are left?"

For the first time, Moody seemed reluctant to answer. "They'll be charged with the illegal trafficking of a Dark or dangerous creature."

"Shit," Remus mumbled. "That's it?"

"I'm afraid so."

The younger man got up and lurched a couple of steps away without using the cane. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his hands jammed in the pockets of his robes. _Why are you letting this get to you? You didn't expect anything at all._

But as soon as he completed the thought, another followed right on its heels: _Because they have, once again, diminished you to being a Dark creature and nothing else. _"Shit," he muttered again.

"So, the question is, lad: Do you want the money? Or do you want to push the case further and have it brought before the Wizengamot?"

"I have a choice?" Remus asked bitterly.

"If you take it before the Wizengamot, Parsons and Bentley would be charged with kidnapping and all the rest. You'd have to plead your case before the entire Wizengamot, though. If you agree to take the money, they'll pay their fine for illegal trafficking and that's the end of it."

Remus sighed and pivoted on his right foot and stepped out with his left. Lost in thought as he was, he had forgotten to brace himself and his left leg began to collapse beneath his weight.

Moody was suddenly there to grab him and keep him upright. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," Remus said impatiently. "I wasn't thinking." He used the older man to push himself up and then back to the bench. "I'd have to plead my case you said."

"Yes."

The werewolf shook his head. "I'm not going to do that. If they want to give me money, fine. Really, I'd be just as happy to just let it go."

"I thought you'd feel that way." Moody suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll. "You'll need to sign this."

"What is it?"

"It says exactly what I just told you. That you had the choice of taking this before the Wizengamot or accepting the money, and you've chosen to take the money." He held the scroll out toward Remus to take.

Remus closed his eyes for a moment. "It sounds so blatantly — mercenary."

"Well, yes, it sounds mercenary. It is. But at least you're getting something out of it. Read it through tonight and sign it. I'll be back tomorrow to get it."

Remus nodded and tucked it into a pocket.

"Now that's over," Moody said, suddenly brisk, "we need to talk about those wards that Dumbledore wants strengthened."

Remus froze. "What wards?"

Moody raised an eyebrow. "I thought he talked to you about them. He said he told you he wanted you to look over some of the wards here while you were recovering."

"I — forgot." The younger man swallowed hard. He could already taste the bile rising in his throat.

"I thought that tomorrow, when I come back to get that scroll, we'd try to get you over to the Shrieking Shack first. Think you can go that far on that leg?"

Remus was having a hard time concentrating on the Auror's voice. Everything he had was focussed on not vomiting at the thought of doing the magic that they wanted him to do. Oblivious to this, Moody continued on, making Remus feel like he was being run over by the Hogwarts Express. The Auror's voice kept pounding into him, driving it all deeper into his mind…

"We'll have to make sure those spells are active enough to hold you next week. Then we'll check the perimeter wards. They seem to need to be redone every six months or so. Then we'll have to—hey, are you all right?"

Remus shook his head quickly, knowing that if he opened his mouth right now, it wouldn't be good.

"Come on," Moody said, getting to his feet. "Let's get you back to bed."

The pain in his leg served to distract him from his nausea, and Remus made it back to his room without too much help from the Auror.

"We'll talk about it some more tomorrow," Moody said. "Now, you've got the scroll, right?"

Wordlessly, Remus pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the other man.

"I'll put it right here." As the Auror placed it on the table next to the bed, Remus saw him stop, look at something on the table, and then glance sidelong at Remus. "Why is your wand here and not somewhere with you?"

Remus shrugged. "Didn't need it gimping up and down the hallway."

"Did I not teach you anything?" Moody roared. "Constant vigilance, boy!"

"I don't think I'm going to run into any Death Eaters in the hallway." Remus fought to say calmly.

"But something could have happened to you out there. You could have fallen or been unable to get back to bed… How would you have gotten help?"

"Someone would have been by sooner or later." The younger man's stomach felt like it was rolling over.

"You keep it with you, you hear?" Moody grabbed it and held it out to Remus.

There was a long, long moment during which Remus stared at his wand. The Auror was holding the tip of it so that the rounded grip was ready to be tucked into Remus' palm. But he couldn't bring himself to reach for it.

"What's the problem, Lupin? Are you all right?"

Again swallowing hard, Remus reached for the wand. But the instant his fingers grazed its polished finish, he knew he'd lost the battle with his stomach.

**12:41 p.m.**

"Remus, there are healers that can help you with this," Dumbledore said softly.

"I don't want help."

"Quit being such a stubborn bastard," Moody snarled.

"I'm not!" Remus looked from the Headmaster to the Auror and felt himself cringe. "Well, maybe I am, but —"

"How are you going to make it in the wizarding world if you can't even touch your bloody wand without getting sick all over the damned place?" the Auror snapped.

The younger man took a deep breath and looked directly into Alastor's good eye. "I won't. That's why I thought I'd take myself off to live with the Muggles."

It was obvious that Dumbledore was barely suppressing a moan of distress. "Remus, you have so much talent. You can't let it go to waste it by –"

"Look, the wizarding world already condemns me for being a werewolf. Being a wizard _and_ a werewolf terrifies them. Even the Ministry –"

"The Ministry is full of fools and idiots who can't tell their arses from holes in the ground," Moody growled impatiently. "You can't go by what the Ministry says or does."

"What will you do during the full moons then?" the Headmaster asked. "Who will set protective wards or soundproofing spells if you are incapable or unwilling to do them?"

Remus sighed. "There are wizards that you can pay to do the charms and spells. I've done it myself for a few Muggle werewolves."

"And you'd trust someone to do that?" Moody demanded.

"Of course." The younger man shrugged. "No one wants a werewolf loose. I'm sure whoever I hired would do their best to make sure I couldn't escape and — hurt anyone."

"You're out of your mind," the Auror proclaimed for the fourth time in the past half hour.

"I don't have a bloody choice!" Remus yelled, his patience finally ripped to shreds.

"You do have a choice," Dumbledore contradicted. "I can bring a healer to –"

"I don't want a healer poking around inside my head!"

Moody suddenly laughed curtly. "Merlin's beard, but you have got to be the most stubborn, inflexible, hard-headed –"

"Alastor," the Headmaster said quietly.

The Auror held up his hands in mock surrender, but he shook his head in disbelief.

"Remus, I know you. We know you." Dumbledore glanced at Moody, thus including him in the 'we.' "You'll never be happy living among the Muggles, regardless of what you —"

"I dare say I can get a job quicker," Remus said almost flippantly.

"We're not just talking about a job!" Moody shouted. "We're talking about protecting yourself and others—especially on full moon nights! We're talking about you wasting the talent that you've been given —"

"We're talking about my being able to live without having the Ministry looking over my shoulder and people sneering at me every time I get fired or every time I don't get hired!" Remus countered.

"You'll still have to deal with the Ministry requirements about werewolves," Moody pointed out. "So you'll still have them looking over your shoulder."

"But they can't order me to write the word 'werewolf' on a Muggle job application," Remus shot back.

"Remus, if this is about finding another position," Dumbledore said, his gentle voice shocking the two other men into silence, "I can always contact Pindar Alatza and see if he knows of anyone who —"

"I told you I'd find something," Remus interrupted.

"I know that's what you said, but with a few well-placed questions —"

The werewolf's eyes narrowed and he snarled, "And _again_ you're trying to take things out of my hands and leave me no bloody choices!"

"He's trying to help you, you insolent whelp," Moody growled.

Remus felt his teeth grind and he glared at the two men impotently. If only one of the two men were there, he'd have a chance of winning. But he didn't have a chance in any level of hell against both of them together.

"You're lucky I have to leave now, boy, because I'd give you a tongue-lashing that you wouldn't forget," Moody continued, pointing a warning finger at the younger man. "One that you very much deserve."

"Alastor," Dumbledore raised an index finger in a forestalling gesture and shook his head slightly.

"I'll be back tomorrow for that scroll," Moody said to the younger man. "We'll talk then."

"I'm already looking forward to it," Remus said as sarcastically as he could. Apparently it was a good bit, because the Auror gave him a startled glance.

"Control yourself, Remus," Dumbledore muttered.

"I'm _fine_!" Remus snapped.

"I'll talk to you later, Albus," Moody said. He shot one last angry look at Remus then left.

After a tense, quiet moment, the Headmaster rose and went to the window. Whatever Remus expected him to say next, he had to admit Dumbledore's next words surprised — and distressed — him. "Remus, I know you're angry. I know at this moment you feel helpless. But, please, understand that we want nothing but the best for you." He took a step back and turned slightly so that he was now looking at Remus. "Alastor did not take your disappearance lightly. He tried very hard to find you. Do not treat his friendship, or mine, with such contempt."

And with that, the Headmaster turned and walked out the door.

**4:52 p.m.**

A guilty conscience made Remus restless, so he went for a walk. The hallway outside his room didn't seem long enough to soothe his rattled nerves or unsettled emotions, so he found himself making his way down stairways and hallways that he hadn't visited since he was a student.

The self-guided tour through the castle lightened his spirits decidedly. Here was a niche in which Peter had hid after the caretaker's cat had chased him when he was in his rat form. There was the tapestry that Sirius had charmed to form pornographic pictures, to the delights of most of the boys in all four Houses. That stairway was the one on which Lily had been standing when she had finally agreed to go to Hogsmeade with James. The broom closet at the end of this hall had been where Remus had gotten to know Veronica Immel very, very well.

With some trepidation, he passed a grandfather clock that had played host to Boggarts at least three times when Remus had been a student. He cast an apprehensive eye at it, but nothing appeared — no full moon, no spectral Sirius Black…

It was close to suppertime, according to the clock; so Remus decided that, since he was already rambling through the corridors, he'd have dinner in the Great Hall. Besides the fact that he was closer to the Great Hall than his own room, he felt somehow — obligated to go.

He wasn't going to go so far as to say that Dumbledore and Moody were unequivocally right. They weren't the ones that had lost their freedom, their dignity, and their pride in the past three months. They didn't know what it was like to have every decision taken out of their hands — unwillingly at that — and told it was for their own good. No, he wasn't sorry for being angry at that.

However, the Headmaster had made a valid point. The two men had gone above and beyond Remus' expectations in order to get him released from the carnival and help him with the aftermath. They had fought hard for him. And at this point in his life, Remus had very few people he considered to be his friends; he couldn't afford to lose these two. He had sounded ungrateful for what they had done for him. He _had_ been an insolent whelp. Somewhat.

So, he'd go eat at the Staff Table, if they'd let him, and tell Dumbledore… tell Dumbledore… Well, what was he going to tell the older wizard? He didn't know. But he'd figure it out when the time came.

He was hobbling from the second to the first floor when a crowd of students passed him on their way to the Great Hall. Most of them seemed to be Ravenclaws. He stepped to the side when he reached the landing between floors so they could get by him.

"Are you all right, sir?" one of the boys stopped to ask.

_I'm a 'sir.' I know I look older than twenty-five, but... _"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

The boy chewed his lip for a second like he wanted to ask if Remus was sure, but another boy punched him in the arm as he went by. "Let's go, Paulie."

The boy smiled almost apologetically at Remus then turned and bolted down the stairs right at his friend's heels.

Remus felt a pang of envy at the boy's ease of movement.

He waited a moment to make sure the main gaggle of students had passed by and then continued his frustratingly slow way down the stairs. As he started down from the first floor, though, he heard yelling.

"He did not, Burkes!"

"He bloody well did! And now he's going to pay for it! You hear me, Wheeler? You're going to pay!"

Screams erupted, and feet pounded across the marble floor of the entryway. Remus leaned over the banister and saw a Ravenclaw standing in a defensive position, his wand arm straight out in front of him, his left arm crossed over that. "Don't you dare, Burkes! If you have a problem with what happened in Transfiguration, then take it up with –"

He got no further. Remus heard another boy's voice growl something and the Ravenclaw flew backward into the wall.

There were more screams, and Remus hoped he could make his voice heard. "Someone run and get a professor!" he yelled as loud as he could.

Hoping that someone had heard and was obeying, he limped down a few more steps. The Ravenclaw was being helped to his feet by a friend. They all heard Burkes — at least Remus assumed it was Burkes — start to mutter another spell.

"No!" The word, shouted by half of the people witnessing this incident, echoed through the entryway.

Remus didn't think — he just acted. He threw his hand out toward the Ravenclaw and yelled, "_Protego_!"

Burkes' spell hit the protective shield and white light erupted where it had struck.

"It's a professor!" yelled someone, seeing Remus make his way down a few more steps.

The werewolf could see Burkes now—a tall, dark boy with dark eyes wearing Slytherin colours. He'd have been handsome if an angry snarl wasn't twisting his lips.

"Drop your wand!" Remus yelled.

"Bugger off! You're not a bloody professor!" a friend of Burkes' sneered.

Remus reached the bottom of the stairs and lurched toward the Ravenclaw, who still looked stunned.

"Hit him again, Thomas!" Burkes' friend yelled.

The Slytherin eyed Remus speculatively.

"Don't do it, Burkes," the werewolf said quietly.

But then the boy raised his wand and started to mutter something…

Remus could only hope the protective shield was still holding. But, fearing that it wasn't, he did the only thing he could think of — he threw himself in front of the Ravenclaw.

A blast of air smashed into his back, throwing him against the wall. Almost immediately, however, several young voices cried out a variety of spells and Burkes and his friend were thrown backward.

"Stop this at once!" The drawl was loud and unmistakeable.

Remus struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain that was shooting up his leg and across his back.

"Are you all right, sir?" Wheeler asked quietly, pushing the cane back into Remus' hand.

It was then that Remus realized that the boy he had been protecting was the one who had paused to talk to him on the stairs. "I'm fine," he said, hoping his smile didn't look too ghastly.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape was asking.

"They attacked Burkes, sir!" shouted a young Slytherin, pointing to the six or seven Ravenclaws who still had their wands drawn.

"They had good reason," Remus said, turning to face the Potions master.

The man's jaw clenched and he stared at the werewolf with undisguised scorn. "What do you know about it, Lupin?"

"I heard them yelling at each other as I was coming down." Remus motioned almost negligently to the boy behind Snape. "Your Slytherin cast the first spell."

Snape turned slightly to see Burkes and his friend getting slowly and painfully to their feet. "Not without provocation, I'm sure."

Remus shook his head. "Nothing happened that should have made him cast any kind of hex, jinx, or curse. He threw three spells at — what's your name, again? — Wheeler before the Ravenclaws reacted. Burkes is lucky he wasn't hexed into oblivion."

The dark-haired man's sneer deepened. "Of course you'd stand up for anyone other than a Slytherin. Burkes was obviously outnumbered and probably ambushed –"

"Oh, Gods, Severus, do you think I'd honestly lie about this to get any student in trouble?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. Besides, who knows how a –" Snape hesitated, then continued, "— someone like you thinks?"

Remus ignored the comment. "Burkes cast the first spell, Severus. Without provocation. The other students only hexed him after his third spell. Now, are you going to discipline your student, or do I need to take this to Dumbledore?"

"Of course, run to the Headmaster whenever something happens that you don't like. Such a Gryffindor." The sneer was obvious and unmistakable.

"Damn it, Severus! This has nothing —"

"Gentlemen! Stop this at once!" Minerva McGonagall ordered, striding quickly into the entryway. "We will settle this calmly and rationally –"

"Preferably somewhere else," Filius Flitwick, who was trotting behind her, added. "Wheeler, Dearborn, stay with me, please. Burkes and Gibbon, you too. The rest of you, go on in and eat. Go."

When the last of the stragglers went through the doors, McGonagall motioned to the corridor opposite the Great Hall. "This way, gentlemen."

Snape made a disparaging noise in his throat.

The Transfiguration professor turned sharply and looked at him. "If you'd like, Severus, we can wait until the Headmaster returns and have him make the final decision in this, but —"

"No, let us not waste the Headmaster's time," Snape growled. "It is obvious to me that my Slytherin is not going to be treated with fairness. After all, the Gryffindor who would speak against him has been known to have participated in attacks against Slytherins."

Remus wanted nothing more than to hit Severus Snape in the head with his cane. "Our past history has nothing to do with this."

"Oh, I think it does."

"Severus, I have never treated any of the students in your House unfairly. I am willing to listen to Mr Burkes' side of the story, as well as Mr Wheeler's and Mr Lupin's. But I quite agree that whatever happened between you and Remus has nothing to do with this, and I trust that he will be impartial in his telling of what he saw and heard," McGonagall said stiffly.

"Fine," snapped the Potions master, striding quickly past McGonagall and into the room in which Flitwick had herded the four boys.

Remus leaned heavily on the cane as he lagged behind. His back and leg were crying out for a pain potion or two. There was no help for it right now, however. Relief would have to wait until after he made Severus Snape hate him even more.

_Sirius would have loved this… though he himself would have hexed Burkes._

And then he realized: he had done magic — and hadn't been sick.

**Won't you please review? With a few short words, you can make a poor writer very happy. And when the writer's happy, she has a tendency to be nicer to her family and her kindergartners (one of which informed her yesterday: "I'm not your personal slave for you to order around." Oh yes; he most definitely did say that).**


	21. Chapter 20:Letting the Chips Fall

A/N: Thanks and gratitude to SortingHat47 for putting up with me and my infinite questions that always seem to start out with, "What if…?"; and for Zarathustra the beta, who certainly doesn't deserve to have to deal with so many misplaced commas…  
I lift a glass of the best Australian wine in toast to remuslives23 and Wolviesfan, who keep me honest (and more importantly, help me keep the characters honest!) and provide me with Remus/Thewlis pictures! They are truly inspirational!

Disclaimer: Sigh. The characters are not mine. They're JKRowling's.  
(And I STILL damn page 661 of the American version of Deathly Hallows…)

**Chap. 20****: Letting the Chips Fall**

**Tuesday, 24 September, 1985—9:27 a.m.**

The person that Albus Dumbledore wanted to see was standing at the end of the fourth floor hallway, gazing out of a window that looked out on the courtyard below. With a smile, he made his way to the young man and leaned on the windowsill beside him.

"I was pleased to see you at breakfast today," the Headmaster said. "I am sorry I wasn't able to stay longer to talk to you."

Remus turned his back to the window so he could focus on the older man. "I doubt Snape would say the same."

"Ah, yes, that's true," Dumbledore agreed regretfully, remembering how his Potions master had slammed his cutlery down and stalked out of the Great Hall the very second after he had eaten his last bite, glaring at the werewolf. "Professor McGonagall told me about what happened yesterday afternoon."

Remus was silent, obviously waiting for the Headmaster's next comment.

"I was pleased that you were able to protect Mr Wheeler from harm," Dumbledore said. "Apparently Mr Burkes did admit to what spell he was using, and it would have been very bad had it struck."

"Not that Snape believed that," Remus said under his breath.

"He does now. Mr Burkes apparently delivered a full confession to him and Professor McGonagall after you left them yesterday."

Remus' eyebrows rose. "He did?"

A small smile appeared on the Headmaster's face. "Regardless of what some Gryffindors may think, there are some wizards from Salazar's House that do have honour."

The young wizard shook his head with a rueful smile. "I suppose I'm guilty of doing exactly what Snape accused me of." He turned and looked back out the window. "So, what happens to Burkes now?"

"He was given several weeks of detention and has lost his Quidditch privileges. As he was a rather skilled Keeper, I believe the Slytherins will take that loss quite badly." Dumbledore leaned a little closer to Remus. "If I were you, I would not mention this fact to Severus when Minerva is around. The Gryffindors' chances of taking the Quidditch Cup have been increased greatly by Mr Burkes' removal from the Slytherin team. She is taking this with rather unsportsmanlike glee, to Severus' chagrin."

Remus snickered. "You realize I'm going to _have_ to bring it up now."

"I would not expect any less," the older wizard replied, with a chuckle of his own.

They stood silently for a moment or two, just looking out over the courtyard and the grounds beyond.

It took Albus by surprise when Remus abruptly said, "I didn't get sick."

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore turned slightly to peer intently at the younger man's face.

"Yesterday, when I did that _Protego_. I didn't get sick."

"Ah."

"I don't know whether it was because I didn't have time to think about it, or if it was because I was just worried about that boy, but whatever it was, I did something magical without getting sick."

"That's very good news," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Have you tried anything else since then?"

Remus shook his head slightly.

"Maybe you should try something simple," the Headmaster said. "A simple levitation spell, perhaps."

Instantly, the werewolf's face changed, becoming more guarded and almost fearful. Before Albus could say anything, Remus swallowed hard and shook his head again, the expression fading to one that was more neutral. "Not that one. I'll try — something else."

"Alastor did say he wanted to try to get you to the Shrieking Shack to check the wards there," the Headmaster said. "Maybe you could try some of those charms. Alastor seemed quite impressed with the ones you used at the Alatzas' estate."

Remus did seem to consider it before nodding once. "I think maybe I could do that."

"Good." Dumbledore put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Just be careful going out there and coming back. I wouldn't want Madam Pomfrey angry with us because you overtaxed your strength."

"I can't get out of —," Remus seemed to catch himself, "— can't get better if I don't push myself," he muttered, his eyes focused on an owl stretching its wings.

"Still, Poppy's wrath is not to be taken lightly," Albus pointed out. He sighed. "I suppose I should go back to my office. I rather expect the father of Mr Burkes to send an angry note about his son's punishment. Knowing him as I do, I fear it may even be a Howler."

"Considering the spell his son was trying to use was _Sectumsempra_, I don't see how he could argue with you," Remus said.

"You might be surprised at the lengths a parent will go to defend a child," the Headmaster mused. "Especially when the child is being punished for what the parent has taught them. So, if you'll excuse me…"

He turned to go back up the hallway, but Remus cleared his throat and said, "Headmaster —"

"Yes, my boy?"

The younger man was staring at the floor, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his robes. "I've thought a good bit about what you said yesterday, and I owe you an apology. You and Moody. I know you're trying to help me, but it's not easy for me to just — accept that. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore smiled, nodded his acceptance, and then continued on to his office.

**12:22 p.m.**

The students were used to visitors appearing at the school. They weren't quite prepared for the sight that was Alastor Moody. Several students knew who he was, however, and before the Auror had walked the length of the Great Hall, whispers of his identity and his skill were carried up and down the lengths of the tables by the students eating lunch.

The man who had defended Paul Wheeler the day before was with Moody. When he had appeared at breakfast that morning, someone remembered the name 'Lupin,' but there was little else that anyone could offer about who he was or why he was there. Satisfied that he had defended a Ravenclaw against a Slytherin — _and_ against the much-maligned Professor Snape — the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws seemed to take to him, offering greetings to him as he limped past them to get to the Staff Table. He smiled pleasantly at them, though he seemed surprised at their welcome.

Professor McGonagall was just leaving the table as Moody and Lupin approached, so the Auror appropriated the chair she had just vacated, which happened to be to the left of the Headmaster. Remus nearly collapsed into the only other chair available: to the far right, between the Muggle Studies and Astronomy professors.

As he filled his plate, Moody leaned toward Dumbledore and whispered, "He did fine. Better than I thought he would. And he apologized for the hippogriff-sized chip on his shoulder too."

The Headmaster continued munching on his vinegar-drenched chips. Without glancing at either the Auror or the 'he' in question, he asked quietly, "Was there any sign of illness?"

"Well, Apparition didn't go so well. But he only had to stop a few times while we were reworking the wards. I don't know if it was because of the magic or if it was because he was back in that house." Moody shook his head. "Have you seen what he's done to that place?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied curtly. "But it was what I had expected."

The other man took a bite of fish. "How could it be what you had expected? You have werewolves tear your house apart often?"

"Before Remus came here, John Lupin showed me the inside of the shed that they had built for his transformations. He wanted to make sure I knew what precautions I needed to take. I also think he wanted to give me one last chance to refuse his son."

Moody's magical eye swirled dizzyingly around in its socket. "Did you ever reconsider?"

"Oh, there were times when I wondered if we had done enough to keep him and the other students safe. There were times when I worried that Madam Pomfrey would not have the ability to heal him of his wounds." The Headmaster took a drink of juice, and carefully set the glass back down. "But I never regretted having him here, if that is what you're asking."

"But you haven't invited another werewolf to attend Hogwarts," Moody noted.

"No, I haven't," Dumbledore offered no further explanation, and the Auror let the subject drop.

**Sun****day, 29 September—8:03 p.m.**

Remus threw open the trapdoor into the Shrieking Shack and paused there for a moment.

"Is everything all right, Lupin?"

The werewolf nodded, and then, realizing that Moody probably couldn't see the movement, said, "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry." He pulled himself into the house and shifted aside so the grizzled Auror could follow him.

"What time did you say the moon comes up tonight?" Moody asked.

"Sometime around midnight," Remus replied.

The Auror muttered, "_Lumos_," and the light from his wand revealed a somewhat curious expression on his face. "Do you somehow know when the moon will rise? Or do you need all the charts and shite?"

"I can tell it's going to happen within a few hours. As it gets closer, I feel it more. I'm able to give anyone a good ten minute warning before I transform." He sat down in a chair that Moody had repaired when they had come here to reset the wards, and continued, "I still check and double-check the lunar charts though."

"Four hours seems like a long time to sit out here alone," the Auror commented.

"I suppose it does to some people." Remus shrugged. "You get used to it."

Moody transfigured a chair out of a small table that had been one of the werewolf's first and most frequent chew toys. "I don't have anything better to do for an hour or so. I'll keep you company."

"You don't have to."

"I know I don't have to," the Auror grumbled. "Gallopin' gargoyles! You think I'd stay here with a grouchy werewolf if I didn't want to?"

Remus let Moody lead the conversation while he rubbed his leg. He had done a lot of walking in the past few days, trying to strengthen it enough that the wolf wouldn't find it troublesome. He knew if the wolf had difficulty in walking or moving, it would become frustrated, which would lead to more self-inflicted injuries. While Remus still walked with a pronounced limp, he could at least walk without a cane for short distances. Since the wolf had three other legs, he hoped it wouldn't be aggravated by any lack of mobility in the fourth.

"… And then that damned Scrimgeour blasted a hole in the wall…"

Remus smiled at the older man's enthusiasm for the story, and at the lack of enthusiasm for his fellow Auror. "That no doubt scared the woman out of her mind."

"Screamed like a banshee," Moody affirmed. "So then, Shacklebolt went running into the other room…"

It had been a long week. Madam Pomfrey had been trying to ease him away from the Sleeping Draught that she had been giving him to control his nightmares by giving him half doses. As a result, even though Remus had fallen into bed exhausted every night, he continued to have dreams that would bring him to full consciousness at least two or three times each night. The grip of the full moon on his senses and body hadn't helped. As a result, for the past two days, he had been nervous and edgy — more so than usual during this time in the lunar cycle. And he was tired; exhausted, really.

He wished he could ask the wolf to just curl up in a corner and sleep.

His body was suddenly taken over by an inarticulate, powerful sense of longing, and he doubled over moaning softly. _So soon… Too soon. It's going to be bad tonight._

"Lupin." A rough hand shook him.

"I'm fine," he managed to whisper. "I'll be fine."

It took a moment before he could pull himself together to sit up. Moody was looking at him with a mixture of scepticism and concern.

"Maybe you should leave now," Remus suggested. It was all he could do to stay in the chair. If Moody weren't here, he'd be able to pace and shuffle about freely, hopefully soothing the restlessness that surged through him.

"I can stay —" the Auror began.

Remus swallowed hard to prevent himself from the growl or the groan that was rising from his throat. He wasn't sure which it was, but neither one would be appreciated and both would cause worry. "Please, Alastor, go," he said, trying to soften the harshness in his tone. "I need to be by myself."

Alastor Moody stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "I think that might be a good idea." He cleared his throat noisily. "I'll be back for you in the morning."

Remus gave him a grunt in acknowledgment, not bothering to watch him leave. His temples were throbbing now, and he massaged them with his fingertips. He could almost hear the moon whispering to him, asking him to come to her, telling him he belonged to her and only her…

He'd been battered emotionally and damaged physically enough in the past few months. He wasn't strong enough to resist her. With a scream that ended in a howl, he gave himself up to her.

**Wednesday, 2 October—6:15 p.m.**

Moody stared at him. "Have you slept at all since I saw you on Monday?"

"Some," Remus answered curtly.

"How's your leg?"

The werewolf shot a disgusted look down at the bandaged limb. "Infected. It's getting better, but you should have seen it yesterday. I didn't even know pus came in that colour."

"How soon until you're on your feet again?"

Remus sighed. "Hopefully tomorrow. Gods, even if she tells me to wait until Friday, I might still get up tomorrow. I can't stand lying around like this, like I'm just waiting to die."

It looked like the Auror might make another comment, but instead, he held out a large envelope for Remus to take.

"What's this?"

"It's the agreement with Bentley and Parsons. I'll need you to sign it, and put your Gringotts vault number on it so they can deposit the money for you."

Remus started to open the envelope, but Moody stopped him by putting his hand over Remus'. "Lupin, we need to talk."

He sat down in the chair next to the bed and leaned his forearms over his legs. "Parsons made a rather serious allegation and I need to know if it's true."

The werewolf felt the man's tension. This wasn't going to be good. At all.

"I should start this by telling you that I decided that the amount you're getting wasn't enough. I thought I might be able to get more out of those bastards. I was going to squeeze every last Knut that I could from them for you," Moody said. "And Bentley might have paid more, until Parsons opened his mouth. He said that they should be reimbursed for the loss of two creatures that died while they were under your care."

Remus' heart stopped beating. "What two creatures?" he asked, his tongue feeling thick and heavy.

"A mermaid and a centaur."

"Gods," Remus whispered. The envelope slipped out of his suddenly nerveless fingers onto his lap.

"What happened?" Moody's voice was very quiet.

"He didn't say?" Remus asked. He gripped the blanket in his fists until his knuckles whitened.

"I want to hear from you what happened," the Auror replied, sidestepping the question.

"The mermaid was dying when I got there," Remus said, trying not to let his voice shake. "She wasn't there by choice either. She wanted to go back home. The tank was a mess, and they weren't giving her enough of the right food. I couldn't do much to help her. I —" He stopped, thought deeply for a moment then continued, "I don't remember much about when she died. I just know that she did."

"How about the centaur?"

It was as if something reached inside Remus' chest and squeezed his heart. "Libertas — the centaur — had been there for five years. He was dying too. They just didn't know it."

"Bentley says you killed him with magic."

And there it was. The accusation — the truth of it — was like a sword right through Remus' gut, sending agony into every nerve through his body. He tried to inhale and suddenly found himself unable to take a breath.

"Did you kill him?" Moody's voice was incredulous and if Remus were capable of processing it all, he might have laughed at how shocked the Auror was. As it was, however, he was fighting to keep from suffocating with the brutal suddenness of this.

"Lupin?"

He closed his eyes so he couldn't see the encroaching darkness should he decide to pass out from lack of oxygen. He felt a tentative touch on his arm and he wrenched himself away. The motion jogged his paralyzed chest muscles, and he gulped in a lungful of air.

"Damn it, you mean Parsons is _right_?"

"There was — more to it — than that," Remus gasped.

"But you did kill the centaur."

"_Fuck!_" He needed something to throw, something to hit — something to bite, something to rip apart with his teeth or claws… He wanted _blood_…

He growled as calloused fingers gripped his chin and turned his face so that the man in the room with him could look into his eyes. He saw a startled look appear on the grizzled man's face, and then the man whispered something that his mind didn't comprehend. The man suddenly jerked away, his wand coming up at the same time, and Remus felt a spell slam in to his body, sending him deep into unconsciousness.

**8:15 p.m.**

Severus came to a complete standstill. For Moody and the Headmaster to look so serious, something must be wrong. He did his best to melt back into the shadows and strained his ears for any hint of what they were discussing.

"... _Stun_ him, Alastor?"

"You have a castle full of children here, Albus! I couldn't take the chance –"

"He can't even get out of bed!" Dumbledore sounded uncharacteristically frustrated.

"If the wolf is coming through, he's going to have the strength to go with it. There's no telling what he'd be capable of doing in that state."

"But to Stun him…"

"What other choice did I have?" The Auror demanded harshly.

"You could have tried to calm him down," the Headmaster replied. "If you just would have taken a minute to —"

"I'm not you, Albus. I've been in too many situations where it's better to Stun first and ask questions later."

"You knew how close it was to the full moon. You knew he was still tired and hurting. Why did you bring up the death of that centaur _now_?"

"Because I didn't think I'd be getting the answers that I was getting!" Moody snapped. "And he's always had better control —"

"These are rather unusual circumstances, though, Alastor!" The Headmaster began to rub his forehead, something that Severus knew was a gesture of extreme irritation.

"He'll get over this. Bloody hell, Albus, I just Stunned him! I didn't _Imperius_ him or _Crucio _him —"

"You might as well have!" snapped Dumbledore. He took a deep breath as if trying to bring his temper under control. He must have succeeded, because when he spoke again, it was quietly, though forcefully. "He's having difficulty with his control of the Darkness that is within him. You should have given him the chance to fight it, to conquer it. He was upset with us, Alastor, because we took choices out of his hands. Granted, they were necessary choices, or things that we knew were important for his well-being, but _this…_" He shook his head. "This has shaken him badly."

"Remus is made of stronger stuff than you're giving him credit for," Moody grumbled.

"If he was made of 'stronger stuff,' why didn't you give him the chance to prove that?" the Headmaster countered.

"Gods!" the Auror threw his hands in the air. "There is no talking to you about this." He half-turned, and froze as he spied Severus in the shadows. "Snape," he spat, in both warning and greeting.

Dumbledore turned. "Severus?"

The Potions master knew they would never continue their interesting conversation with him there, so there was no point in pursuing it. "I wondered if I could talk to you about that idiot, Jonathan Blotts. He has just turned in another substandard essay, and —"

The Headmaster sighed. "Later, Severus. I need to deal with another situation right now."

Severus couldn't help himself. "_We_ have a responsibility to a student—a _current_ student—who is having problems. I need assurances that something is going to be done to help him."

Moody grunted something that sounded suspiciously like an order for Severus to do something anatomically impossible. Dumbledore, however, straightened and looked right into the younger man's dark eyes. "I will discuss this with you later, Severus. Please excuse us."

Obviously dismissed, there was nothing the Potions master could do but turn around and head back to his rooms.

**Saturday, 5 October—8:04 p.m.**

"No, Mr Lupin, not tonight."

Surprised, Remus looked up at the matron. "Why not?"

"The potion for dreamless sleep that I've been giving you has a tendency to become addicting. You know that."

"Yes, but…"

"You've had it almost every night for several weeks. Even considering I've tried to give you half dosages, you have far exceeded the recommended amount and the recommended time frame for safe usage. I cannot give you any more of it."

"Not even half?" She noticed that his voice trembled the tiniest bit as he asked her the question.

"No, I'm sorry." She hurriedly packed away an empty vial that had contained pain potion. "Now, I have to go see to a young lady who did some considerable damage to her face when she was trying to charm away her freckles. I will see you in the morning."

She pretended not to hear his mumbled, "If I make it until then."

**Monday, 7 October—1:52 p.m.**

Lupin limped into the Potions classroom and leaned against the wall, hands in pockets. The left side of his mouth drew up into a sardonic smile. "I was listening to the kids as they left. They love your class, Severus."

The last two students in the room, who were busy cleaning up an unfortunate mistake, glanced up at the newcomer and then at the Potions professor.

"They do not take potions as seriously as they ought," Severus said, addressing his words to the two boys. "They do not realize that I can teach them how to create fortune, or fame—or death."

Noticing how the boys' eyes widened as Snape spoke, Lupin rubbed his chin thoughtfully with a long forefinger. "You know, you ought to tell them that."

Severus gave him a sharp look. "You cannot just tell _children_ that."

Lupin pushed himself away from the wall. "Oh, I don't know. Something like that would pique their interest. It would give them a reason to take it seriously."

"I hardly think you are in any position to tell me how to teach my classes." Severus turned and snapped at the two boys, "Have you finished cleaning up that mess yet?"

"Y-y-yes, sir," stammered one of the boys, dropping his textbook on the floor.

Snape scowled, noticing that Lupin was moving deeper into the room, and was smiling openly. "Then _leave_," the Potions master ordered.

The two boys tripped several times over their own feet getting out of the classroom.

Severus watched them go; Lupin, however, did not. He was making his way between the tables, letting his fingertips trail along the tops. He stopped in front of one table, and from there, Severus saw his eyes drift to various points in the room. He knew what Lupin was seeing: Pettigrew at the spot next to him; Black and Potter at the table diagonally from them—and Lily two tables ahead…

"What is your purpose, Lupin?" he asked, gruffly.

The other man blinked and shook his head a bit as if to clear it. "My purpose? Specifically or in general? Because I've got to admit that, in general, I'm still trying to figure that out."

"How my heart bleeds for you," Snape said tonelessly.

The left side of Lupin's mouth hitched upward again. "I knew that it would. I'm touched."

There was a long silence while Snape carefully sorted through some essays. He watched Lupin surreptitiously as the other man continued limping around the classroom, stopping to look at the jarred specimens. "And specifically?" Severus pressed, suddenly curious in spite of himself. There had to be a reason why Lupin was here…

"Specifically? Well, now, that —" Lupin drew in a deep breath. "I was wondering if you had any Sleeping Draught lying around."

"Why not ask Madam Pomfrey?"

"I did." Lupin made his way up the aisle until he was at the worktable in front of the professor's desk. There, he seated himself on one of the stools, and folded his hands together on the surface of the table. "She refused to give it to me."

Surprised at the man's brazen honesty, Severus took a moment to form his next question: "And what, may I ask, would make you think that I would supply you with it?"

"Because you wouldn't give a damn if I got addicted to a Sleeping Draught, or if I chased it down with aconite." Lupin replied, with an almost charming smile.

"She said you are becoming addicted?" Snape asked sharply.

Lupin raised his chin and looked at the ceiling. "Well, she didn't quite _say_ that in as many words…"

"But she implied it."

"Of course." Lupin shrugged. His eyes met Snape's. "It's an addictive substance."

Severus couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Lupin, of all people, asking for a potion that he was in danger of becoming addicted to? Lupin, the Gryffindor prefect? It was _beyond_ belief. Just out of a sense of retribution, he should bloody well just hand the potion over to Lupin — a whole week's worth. But, his sense of responsibility made him hesitate.

"Why do you need it?" he finally asked.

"Because I can't sleep," Lupin said, almost flippantly.

"If it's because of pain, there —"

The werewolf looked away and hunched his shoulders. "It's not the pain. I can handle that."

"Then why do you need it?"

"Why do you care?" Lupin suddenly snapped, his eyes again meeting Snape's. "I'd think you'd be glad to give it to me, and consider it my own problem if I did get addicted."

"Oh, yes. I want your eventual decline and death set on my doorstep," Snape said dryly. "The Headmaster and Moody would be so pleased with me."

"Since when do what they think matter to you, especially when it comes to me?" Lupin shot back.

"Since when does what they think _not_ matter to you?" Severus could give back what he'd been served — and more. "After all they have done to help you, I would think you might consider what they would think or feel if you as good as killed yourself."

Lupin crossed his arms on the tabletop and rested his chin on top of them. "That's not — exactly — my intention."

"But if it happens?" prompted Severus.

The werewolf was quiet for several seconds. "They'd feel terrible about it, and think there was something they could have done — it's all the same when someone dies, no matter who or why. And then they'll get over it. But, honestly, it isn't my intention."

"And what about me?" Snape asked quietly. "The one who had provided you with the means to do away with yourself?"

Lupin pushed himself up, obviously agitated. "Oh, hells, Severus. One fucking dose of Sleeping Draught is not going to kill me."

"It could be the one dose that pushes you into an addiction."

"I knew better than to come here," Lupin said under his breath. He turned and started to limp back between the desks toward the door.

Severus knew Lupin hadn't meant his words to be heard, but the acoustics of the place worked against him. "Then why did you come?" he asked quietly.

Lupin stopped. His back was still to Snape, so the Potions master couldn't see his face, but the tension in the man's shoulders was obvious. Slowly, the werewolf turned. "I suppose I thought —" He took a deep breath and practically whispered the rest: "— that you'd understand."

_He thought I'd understand? Understand what? Needing the Sleeping Draught so badly that you can't wait for the next dose? No… Needing it to erase the names and the faces and the voices of those who suffered — and sometimes died — at your hands? Needing it to — what does he know? _Severus also inhaled deeply. _What is it that __I'd__ understand, more than anyone else?_ Legilimency would tell him quickly and precisely what Lupin knew and was thinking. But as Severus focused on the blue eyes of the man in front of him, he knew that Legilimency was completely unnecessary: he could clearly see and feel Lupin's grief — and his guilt.

And then his thoughts and things that he and Dumbledore had learned from Lupin, as well as the conversation he had heard between the Headmaster and Moody, made a connection. _The names of those who suffered and died — at your hands — and __his__…_ Snape kept his voice as non-threatening as possible as he made a leap of logic: "You cannot escape what happened with Libertas."

The blood drained from Lupin's face instantly, and he involuntarily grabbed at the edge of the nearest table.

In the very next instant, however, a smile reappeared on his face, though the gleam of shock and self-loathing in his eyes made it a parody of his usual inane, pleasant one. "Damned leg," he said hoarsely.

Severus ignored the man's pathetic attempt at an excuse. "A Sleeping Draught will not make one's inner demons disappear, Lupin. You know that."

The smile faded again, but Snape could see something flicker in those eyes… _It would be so easy — one quick word, and his mind would be laid open to me… One word, and I would know everything that Dumbledore and Moody have been fighting to learn…_

"Yes," Lupin finally said. "I do know that."

But he didn't move. He didn't _leave_.

"Well?" Severus finally prompted.

"Haven't you ever wanted those 'inner demons' to just shut _up_?" Lupin asked quietly. "Haven't you ever wanted to lie down and not fight with them and with yourself?" He took a step closer to the Potions master — not away — and Severus suddenly felt uneasy.

The werewolf continued speaking. "Did you ever wake up and realize suddenly that you had never been asleep? That the voices aren't just in your dreams, they're in your _head_, in your _memory — _and they won't go _away_?"

Severus licked suddenly dry lips. "Lupin, it sounds as if you need much more than a Sleeping Draught. There are Healers who deal with this sort of thing..."

"What if you don't _want_ them to go away completely?" Lupin asked, taking several more steps nearer. His voice was scarcely more than a whisper now, but he was so close that Severus could hear every word easily. "What if the voices — those inner demons — are all you have left of those you loved more than anything?"

"Lupin, I do not want to hear this…"

"What if it was _Lily's_ voice you heard in your head?"

The werewolf's question pierced Severus' heart. _How did he know…?_

And suddenly, Severus realized: Lupin thought he would understand because of _Lily._

Had Lily told James of her childhood friendship with Severus, and he had relayed that information to the Marauders? Or had she told Lupin herself? And now, the werewolf had guessed — correctly, Severus was horrified to realize — that Lily still spoke to the Potions Master in his dreams, and in his waking hours…

"Lupin, I think you should leave." His voice lacked the strength and volume he knew it should have to be effective.

"Why?" the other man countered. "Because you know what I'm talking about_?_ Throw me out because you hate me, Severus. Throw me out because of what I am, and what happened that night under the Whomping Willow. But don't you _dare_ throw me out just because I know you hear Lily as much as I do—_and we both fucking know I'm right!_"

For the first time in his life, Severus became aware of how intimidating Remus Lupin could be in his human form. This was not the Gryffindor prefect who knuckled under to Potter and Black. This was something more, forged from long years of war, grief, and pain. _And he is right. Merlin's beard, he is right…_

But he'd be damned before letting the werewolf know that. He drew himself up as he collected his words: "I am not throwing you out because you think you are right. I am throwing you out because you want something that I cannot — and will not — provide to you."

"Liar," hissed Lupin. And as if he knew how deeply it would cut, how badly it would hurt, the werewolf added, "You're tossing me out because you're a bloody, damned _coward_."

Severus' lips twisted into a snarl, and he swiftly drew his wand, aiming it straight at Lupin's chest. But just as he muttered the first syllable of a particularly nasty and bloody curse, he realized that Lupin hadn't moved.

The Potions Master silenced himself, though he kept his wand aimed at the defenceless werewolf.

Lupin hadn't moved. He hadn't even tried to dodge behind a table to avoid whatever Severus was going to do to him, and _surely _he'd have known that his words would have motivated Snape into acting.

Unless that was what he had been counting on.

Severus knew one of Lupin's strengths had been defensive magic. He had seen and heard and known of it from their years at Hogwarts — and beyond. There had been very few Death Eaters who had been able to breach Lupin's defences in battle. He and Black had been a formidable team: Black attacking while Lupin protected them both…

And Lupin had made no attempt to defend himself.

Severus slowly lowered his wand. His dark eyes met the werewolf's blue ones. "I will not be the cause of your death, Lupin," he finally said. "Go find some of your precious Gryffindor courage and slice your wrists open, or drown yourself, or go nibble on some wolfsbane, but do not involve _me_ in your decision to commit suicide."

The damned werewolf didn't even bat an eyelash. "I never thought you'd resist the temptation quite so well."

"So you admit you were trying to goad me into — _killing_ you?" Severus asked, nearly aghast that the man had planned this so carefully — and nearly succeeded.

Lupin shrugged. "If it happened, it happened."

"You'd put me into Azkaban for that!"

Again the werewolf's shoulders rose and fell. "Knowing what I am, I'm sure they would have made excuses for you. They'd have probably given you the Order of Merlin for ridding the world of another pest."

Interestingly enough, Lupin was probably right. Still, Severus wasn't going to let this go. "Moody would never accept that. Neither would the Headmaster."

"They'd protect you. Or rather, Dumbledore would. And he'd get Alastor to let it go as well."

"You would do this to me after Black did this to you? Try to set someone innocent up for murder?"

That reached through several layers of emotional scarring: the werewolf blinked and looked away. "Honestly, Severus, I thought you'd be grateful for the chance to get rid of me, once and for all." He suddenly smiled ruefully and met Severus' gaze again. "I was wrong."

"You are emotionally and mentally disturbed, Lupin. You need a Healer —"

Lupin was already shaking his head, but he said nothing.

"You have been through much in the past few months," Severus said, begrudgingly admitting the truth of it. "You are not thinking — right."

The werewolf inhaled deeply and leaned his left hip against the worktable next to him, taking the weight off his injured leg. "You think this is all about what's happened at the carnival?"

"I think it is a large part of it," Severus said slowly.

Lupin stared at him for a moment, then suddenly turned and started hobbling away.

_What in the name of…? Is that __it__? _"Lupin?"

The werewolf stopped, half-turned, and looked at him with a smile on his face. "Changed your mind about the Sleeping Draught?"

"You know I cannot do that."

Lupin shook his head and began walking again, saying over his shoulder, "You just won't do anything to help me, will you?"

"If I had really wanted to help you by killing you, I'd have given you mercy when you asked for it at the carnival," Severus remarked.

If he had wanted to shake Lupin out of his annoying neutrality, he couldn't have chosen a better phrase. And he hadn't even intended it that way.

Lupin spun around quickly, but in doing so, his weak leg buckled, pitching him to the stone floor. He pushed himself up on his hands and stared in shock at the Potions Master. "What — when did I — you…" He finally gave up any attempt at coherent speech and let himself fall flat on the floor again, hiding his face in his arms. "Shit!"

Severus' eyebrows rose.

Neither man moved for several heartbeats.

Finally, Severus cleared his throat. "Lupin, as much as I hate to disturb your — thoughts, I have a class of Ravenclaws coming soon. Now, if you _want_ them to see you there, then, by all means, stay. I am certain I can walk around you, or step _on _you, whichever you prefer. However —"

"I didn't know that was real," the werewolf interrupted him, rolling over onto his back, but still shielding his face with his arms. "Damn it all to hell. And back."

Severus shifted uncomfortably. "You were in pain and shock. You had just been through a horrible ordeal. It is understandable that you would say things that you didn't mean —"

Lupin lowered his arms, and, from his position on the floor, looked upside down at the Potions Master. "I meant it. I remember it. And I meant it. But, since you haven't said anything, I thought maybe it was like most of the other conversations I was having — all in my head or with others who — weren't there."

He rolled over and slowly pushed himself up to his feet. Severus caught the quick grimace of pain the werewolf made as he did.

What should he say to Lupin now? Was there anything to say? He exhaled heavily and turned his attention to his plans for the Ravenclaws.

"Why didn't you do it then?" Lupin suddenly asked. "You could have, and no one would have questioned it."

Severus didn't look at him. "It was not my place to decide whether you were needful of death or not. It is still not my place." _However much I might wish for it._

He didn't watch Lupin limp out of the classroom.

**Snape will probably regret that he didn't take the chance that Remus offered him… **

**Reviews would be much appreciated and might make my tension headache go away!**


	22. Chapter 21:Ambush

A/N: Where would I be if not for SortingHat47 and Zarathustra, who scan, examine, inspect, and critique what I've done? Thank you ladies!

Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were mine, I wouldn't be letting Warner Bros. screw up HBP. Have you heard about what they've done to that movie? No fight at Hogwarts (the Death Eaters just breeze on in), no hospital ward scene between Remus and Tonks (nothing about Bill and all that, either!), no funeral for Dumbledore… Good golly — what's LEFT? I'm so afraid it's gonna suck…

**Chapter 21: Ambush**

**Monday, 7 October, 1985—3:02 p.m.**

_So. Where do I go from here?_

Remus leaned over the stone wall that went around the Astronomy Tower. It was a long, long drop to the ground. He wondered how long it would take to fall that far.

_No. I'm not even going to think it._

But, hadn't he already? He had intentionally goaded Snape, had provoked him knowing what might happen.

_Hell, __if he had used a simple Stunner on me, the result would've been the same. I'd still be here, wondering if I shouldn't throw myself off._

He was worthless. He couldn't walk without a limp, and the long trudge from the dungeon to the top of the Astronomy Tower had taken every bit of strength and breath from him. He couldn't perform magic without feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn't maintain his control on himself — making him little better than Greyback, in his own mind. It seemed unlikely he'd find another job. He was relying on Hogwarts charity for food and a bed.

_C__ouldn't even get Snape to kill me…_

A scrap of parchment fluttered across the stone floor, and he bent to pick it up. Sloppy handwriting informed him to pay attention: that the moons of Jupiter would be on the O.W.L.s. A smaller, neater printing replied that it wasn't the moons of Jupiter; it was the moons of Saturn that they would need to know.

Remus couldn't help but smile.

_Amazing how we bragged to each other about how many O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s we got and they got us nowhere. Well, nowhere where we really wanted to go. Sirius' marks weren't enough to keep him out of Azkaban, and mine weren't enough to overcome my lycanthropy. _

_We've got to be the two best — or is it worst? — examples of underachievement in Hogwarts history. Certainly didn't live up to our marks, did we?_

A noise behind him made him glance over his shoulder. A boy stood there staring at him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know anyone was here."

"That's quite all right," Remus said, without shifting his position. "There's still plenty of room for you to throw yourself off the tower while I finish convincing myself to do it."

The boy gulped and paled. "S-sir?"

"Never mind. It was a bad attempt at an even worse joke," Remus replied. He straightened and turned to face the boy, who was probably a fifth-year and very clearly upset about something. Remus suddenly regretted his acidic remark.

The boy held his textbooks up against his chest in a defensive manner and made a move as if he were going to step backwards.

"I do apologize," Remus said quietly. "Sometimes things get to be a bit much, and I have a tendency to resort to inappropriate sarcastic remarks."

The boy had stopped moving and was regarding him with eyes that were more curious than frightened now. "Aren't you the one who helped Wheeler the other day? And argued with Sn— uh, Professor Snape?"

Remus chuckled humourlessly. "Ah, yes. That would indeed be me."

The boy grinned. "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, I thought it was brilliant."

"Well," Remus began as he rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Your Potions master and I don't always see eye-to-eye on things. I should never have been so confrontational with him though." _Wouldn't Snape faint if he heard me say that?_

"I still thought it was brilliant," the boy insisted. He slowly crossed the tower until he was standing next to Remus. "I'm Jonathan Blotts," he said, extending his hand.

The werewolf hesitated then shook the boy's hand. "Remus Lupin."

"Are you a professor or something, Mr Lupin? I've seen you around the Castle, but…"

Remus tilted his head to one side. "I suppose I'm the 'or something.' I'm a —" he caught himself. "I was a teacher. I'm between jobs now." _Well, now, isn't that a bloody understatement?_

"I wish you were my teacher in Potions," Jonathan Blotts muttered, leaning his back against the wall. "Hell, I'd be happy with the Bloody Baron teaching me. Anyone other than bloody Snape. He just tossed me out of the bloody class now because I'd bungled — whatever the hell it was that we were doing." He suddenly winced. "Sorry for the language, sir."

"Potions not going so well?" Remus asked lightly, ignoring both curses and apology.

"No. Neither is Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, or Defence Against the Dark Arts." The boy rolled his eyes. "And I won't even mention Charms."

Remus couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising as his eyes fastened on the boy's blue and bronze striped tie.

Blotts glanced down to see what it was that Remus was looking at. Realisation made him blush and mumble, "I think the Sorting Hat was having me on a bit when it placed me in Ravenclaw. The professors seem to think so, too."

"Can't you get a tutor? Perhaps someone from your House would help you."

Jonathan sighed. "I've had all kinds of tutors. I have tutors now. They get impatient with me because I just can't seem to get things as quickly as I ought."

Remus leaned his left hip against the wall, taking the weight off his aching leg. "What keeps you from getting it as quickly as they think you should?"

"Oh, who knows?" Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"Are there subjects you do well in?"

"I do fairly well in History and Astronomy, and I do quite well in Magical Creatures. Oh, I know that a lot of people think that's not a class to brag about doing well in, but I'm good at it," Jonathan said with an insistent nod of his head.

"Magical Creatures is a class like any other," Remus said softly. "It requires you to know the creatures, their characteristics, their origins, and their care. It's not as easy as some would make it."

"Exactly!" Jonathan stood up, his face flushed with excitement. "I mean, almost everyone knows about Crups, but do they all know that Muggles get Crups confused with Jack Russell terriers? And then there are Clabberts. They get sick when they eat fish. How many people know that?"

Remus felt the muscle in his jaw tighten, and he closed his eyes briefly. "Have you seen a Clabbert?" he asked. The question was meant only to give the boy a chance to talk some more about something he liked in the hopes it would cheer the boy up.

"Oh, yes. Just this past summer, I saw one at a carnival. It could make you laugh just by grinning at you. Even my dad said it was the cheekiest thing he'd ever seen."

"Oh really? What other animals did you see?" The question sounded innocent, but Remus felt an icy finger of dread poking him in his gut.

"There was a hippogriff and a centaur… But the amazing thing was the werewolf. Can you believe the carnival actually had a werewolf?"

"No." The word was whispered before Remus even knew it.

Jonathan Blotts laughed. "That's what my friend, David, said when I told him. But he talked his older brother into taking him to the carnival a few days after I'd been there, and he saw the werewolf, too."

Remus stared out over the trees, his thoughts snarled like a ball of yarn after a Kneazle had been at it. "You've never seen a werewolf before? Knowingly?" he asked as casually as he could. His voice was steady. His hands were not, so he shoved them into his trousers pockets.

"No." The young Ravenclaw's forehead furrowed. "Mr Lupin, do you think—?" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind."

Remus might have let the question go unasked any other time. But, in this particular instance, considering the topic they had just been discussing, he felt almost _Imperius_ed to ask, "Do I think what, Mr Blotts?"

The boy altered his question slightly. "Have you ever _met_ a werewolf?"

_Keep it simple. _"Yes, I have."

"Was he, well, was he like we are?" Jonathan asked.

Remus suddenly had the urge to laugh hysterically. "In what way?" he asked, giving himself time to stuff the completely inappropriate laughter back into a dark corner.

"Does he think like we do? Or feel things like we do?"

_Don't get defensive. He doesn't know. _"Is there a particular reason why you're asking these questions, Mr Blotts?"

The boy seemed uncomfortable, and wouldn't look Remus in the eye. "It's just that, when I saw the werewolf at the carnival, he didn't — he wasn't — oh hell," Blotts swore. "He just didn't act like I thought he would. He was just sitting there, reading a book, and he didn't look up, even when my cousin said —" The boy blushed. "Well, it wasn't nice, at any rate. If my cousin had said it to me, I'd have jinxed him. And considering what they say about werewolves, I thought for sure that he'd have tried to attack my cousin. But he — didn't. He just sat there, reading his book, ignoring us. Is that — normal? I thought they were supposed to be mean and uncontrollable. Even in their human form."

The werewolf to whom the questions were addressed lowered his chin to his chest in thought for a moment. Slowly, though, he raised his eyes until he was looking right into Jonathan's. "Mr Blotts — Jonathan — I am going to tell you something that I'm not sure you'll believe."

He watched the boy steel himself for whatever he was going to say next.

"Many werewolves are not what many people are brought up to believe. Yes, they're dangerous during the full moon, and should be feared then. Throughout the rest of the month, however, a werewolf is no better or worse than any other human being. Some choose to be everything bad that people think them to be. But there were some people who chose to be Death Eaters— they chose to be evil and do evil. Is the entire human race condemned as evil, then?"

"No," Jonathan whispered, his eyes wide.

_Do I dare go on? Why not?_"Understand, Jonathan, that before a man is bitten, he has the same hopes and fears as anyone else. He wants a good job, a nice place to live, friends, and a family of his own. After a man is bitten, he still has those same dreams. The only difference is that he comes to realize he can never have those things. Either the Ministry keeps them from him, or those around him — his family, his friends, his lover, his employer — can't get past the fact that once a month he is — not himself."

"How can they?" Jonathan asked after a moment. "I mean, a werewolf is a Dark Creature. A creature, not a human —"

"Semantics," Remus snapped. "Created out of fear and perpetuated by the Ministry and the ignorant. And sometimes those two things are not mutually exclusive." He sighed and leaned his arms on the top of the wall again. "What's even worse is when a werewolf truly comes to understand that his life is not his own again; it's ruled by the moon and the Ministry. Good jobs and good fortune then become like — moonlight: bright and beckoning, but untouchable."

He could almost hear Sirius' voice saying, "Oh, bloody Merlin on toast, it's Professor Moony," when he looked over his shoulder at the Ravenclaw and said, "The statistic is that fully a fourth of all men who become werewolves between the ages of eighteen and thirty-six kill themselves within a year. Do you know why?"

The boy came over and imitated Remus' stance, his shoulder mere inches from the taller man's. "I would suppose it's because that's when you're trying to get a good job or start your family, right? And that's when you start realizing how difficult it will be."

"That's when a girlfriend decides it's easier not to deal with a lycanthropic boyfriend. That's when a young wife begins to wonder if she has to worry about unborn children carrying a Dark curse. That's when a wife starts to panic that the children already in the home will be eaten at the next full moon should the walls and wards fall." Remus shook his head. "And employers will always keep a werewolf for about six months and then fire him for work missed because of full-moon related injuries." He gave Blotts a half-smile. "There's a joke that goes around every so often: Why do so many employers fire werewolves so quickly? Because they don't want to try to figure out an appropriate retirement gift other than the traditional silver watch."

The boy chuckled, knowing he was expected to. "You seem to know a lot about it," he said. "Were you and this werewolf close?"

_Does he not see the scar across my nose and cheek? Does he not see the scar on my jaw only inches away from his eyes?__ Doesn't he remember seeing _me?

"Yes," Remus replied.

"Is he your brother? Or a cousin?"

Remus gave him a lopsided smile. "Does it really matter?"

The boy flushed and looked away. "No, sir, I don't suppose it does."

A thestral rose from the forest and drifted almost lazily on the air currents for a few minutes before dropping back to where it had come from.

"They're very graceful for as ugly as they are," Jonathan commented.

Remus shot him a quick glance. The boy's eyes were focused on the point at which the thestral had disappeared. "They are," he agreed.

The boy looked at Remus, surprise written on his face. "You didn't ask me."

"Ask you why you can see thestrals?"

"Yes."

Remus looked down at his hands for a moment, then back out over the trees. "I know why I can see them. If I ask you whose death you saw, I know you're going to reciprocate. Frankly, Mr Blotts, I'd rather you not ask me that question, so I won't ask you."

"Oh."

Far below them, a bell rang and the boy jumped. "I have to go. I have to meet my Charms tutor." He paused. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Lupin."

"The pleasure's all mine," Remus said, hoping that his smile looked genuine enough to fool the boy.

Blotts turned and raced down the steps.

"He'll break his bloody neck running like that," Remus muttered, turning his attention back to the forest.

Peter would have protested, saying something like, "We used to go down the steps like that, Moony."

James would have added, "Don't you remember how you'd skip three steps at once, especially after your legs stretched out in seventh year? You'd jump from halfway up the staircase, if you were late for class."

And Sirius — oh, Sirius — would have laughed, as he always did, and said, "Professor Moony forgets what it's like to be a fifth year."

Remus considered that carefully. "I forget what it's like to be young altogether, Padfoot," he whispered.

**Tuesday, 8 October—****8:20 a.m.**

Minerva McGonagall laid a hand on Remus' shoulder as she went past him. "Mr Lupin, the Headmaster said he needs to see you in his office when you're finished. He said to tell you he knows how much you like Chocolate Frogs."

Remus suddenly found himself with even less of an appetite for his breakfast than he had when he had started. He laid his cutlery across his plate and then pushed it back.

Professor Kettleburn smiled at him. "That order has the same kind of effect on adults as it does on the students," he said, nodding to Remus' half-eaten breakfast.

"As I haven't put Dungbombs in any of the classrooms and I haven't hexed any Slytherins lately, I'm at a loss to know what he could want," Remus commented with a half-smile. "That means it could be about anything, and chances are it isn't good."

"Well, shouldn't keep him waiting and put your stomach into knots," Kettleburn suggested with a grin.

A few minutes later, Remus was muttering, "Chocolate Frogs" to the gargoyle, which stepped aside.

The door at the top of the steps was ajar, and the Headmaster called out, "Come in, Remus," before the werewolf had the chance to knock. Moody and Garrison were seated in chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk. Another man who Remus didn't know was standing slightly behind Moody. A third chair was placed to the side of the Headmaster's desk; Remus somehow knew it was meant for him. As he closed the door, two more men were revealed standing where he couldn't see them until then. They were both wearing Ministry robes, and one of them had a Werewolf Capture Unit badge.

"Please have a seat," Dumbledore said with a kind smile and a gesture at the empty chair.

Remus warily eyed the Aurors but didn't move. "Can I ask why I'm here?"

"You're here because I asked you to come here," the Headmaster said, his usual twinkle missing from his eyes.

The younger man normally would have allowed himself to chuckle. It wasn't often that Dumbledore indulged in comedic turns of phrase, but when he did, Remus had always appreciated them. He knew, however, that the older wizard's attempt at humour was hiding something much darker. It had been that way many times in the past. "Then shall I rephrase the question and ask why the Aurors and Ministry officials are here so early in the morning?"

"Suspicious bastard," Moody said gruffly.

"My self-preservation has often relied on being just that," Remus replied. For the first time he noticed that Terry Garrison was not smiling. He didn't even appear to be relaxed. _Shit. _"What's happened?"

Moody motioned to the man standing beside him. "This is Derrick Alexander. He's with the Beast Division." He then pointed to the two men who had been standing behind the door. "That's Bryce Taylor of the Werewolf Capture Unit and Mortimer Higgins from Werewolf Services."

That name sounded familiar and suddenly Remus remembered why. He was one of the men who had questioned Remus back in May. He had been there with Carmichael. Remus froze and stared at the man with wide eyes.

"It's good to see you again, Mr Lupin," Higgins said. He offered a smile that was, at best, neutral. To the werewolf, the smile seemed a little too toothy to be completely friendly.

"Remus," Dumbledore's quiet voice drew Remus' attention to the Headmaster. "Please come and sit down, won't you?"

The young man felt sweat beading on his forehead, and a chill ran up his spine. If he sat down, he'd be trapped in this room with these men, and he didn't much care for the prospect. "I'm fine where I am," he replied, hearing his voice crack just a little and damning himself for it.

Higgins gestured to the chair and said something that, in his state of near-panic, Remus didn't understand. Moody, however, stood up and stumped over to him. He stood next to the werewolf and leaned close to Remus' ear. "It'll be over soon. I'm not going to let them do anything stupid."

Remus looked at him with trepidation, but soon found himself in the chair that had been reserved for him.

"Remus, the Werewolf Code requires you to have a wizard represent you," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes intent on Remus. "Do you have any objections to having me represent you?"

The werewolf shook his head no. He was having a difficult time catching his breath.

Derrick Alexander cleared his throat. "A complaint has been lodged against you, Mr Lupin, that you did wilfully and with malice kill two magical creatures. It has been alleged that the deaths of those two creatures did lead to financial loss as well as tarnished the reputation of an established business, namely Bentley and Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures."

"What two creatures is he accusing of killing?" Dumbledore asked, already knowing the answer but giving Remus time to collect his thoughts.

"A mermaid and a centaur."

"Shit," Remus whispered.

"Obviously, our first question is: did you kill them, Mr Lupin?" The Ministry official's brown eyes were hard and cold as they waited for Remus' reply.

Remus looked at Dumbledore, who motioned for him to answer. Moody spoke up first. "Lupin, just tell me what you said the other day."

_But I admitted that I had killed Libertas… I am so fucked. _"I didn't kill the mermaid. She was malnourished and maltreated when I — got there. She wasn't eating. She died within a couple of weeks after they grabbed — after I started taking care of the creatures there."

"Can you tell us what you did do to take care of her?" Alexander asked.

Remus haltingly went through the things that he did for the mermaid, from cleaning out the tank to trying to entice her to eat with foods he knew merpeople liked. Both Moody and Alexander nodded occasionally, and he found himself calming down just a bit. But he knew the questions about Libertas were coming…

When Remus had finished his account of the last few weeks of the mermaid's life, Alexander sighed. "I see nothing wrong in the care you provided for the mermaid —"

Higgins cut him off. "But how do you know that he did care for her in the manner in which he said? He might be lying. He could very well be guilty of her death."

"This is just a questioning session," Moody pointed out. "It is not for us to say if he's guilty or innocent. We just have to decide if there is enough evidence to hold him for trial."

_Trial! _Remus' eyes widened.

Garrison leaned closer to him to say quietly, "It would just be a trial to determine the restitution amount."

"No," Taylor said harshly. "You forget yourself, Garrison. Lupin's a werewolf. Under the Werewolf Code, if it is determined that he willingly hurt or killed any sentient being or beast — and I'm sure the case could be made that a centaur is a sentient being — he must be dealt with accordingly."

Moody's face turned a rather impressive shade of purple. "You never said anything about —"

"You've been a bloody Auror for how many years?" Taylor shot back. "You should know what happens when a werewolf is accused of something like murder."

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "But, gentleman, the determination must first be made if Remus is guilty of killing the centaur wilfully and with malice. If you decide that the centaur died under his care, or if Remus had _cause_ to do harm to the creature—self-defence, for example—then all other arguments are useless. Correct?"

Taylor squirmed slightly as he considered the older wizard's assessment. "Yes, that's true." With more confidence, he added, "But we all have to agree that there was no malice."

"And how do we know he's telling the truth?" Higgins persisted. "Werewolves are known for their duplicitous nature. It might be better to hold him for trial anyhow."

"Mr. Higgins," Dumbledore interrupted. "I resent your generalization. I can't think of a single time when Remus Lupin could ever have been considered 'duplicitous.' He was a prefect while here at Hogwarts. That should prove that he had earned my trust, as well as the trust of the staff while he was a student, and I can assure you that nothing has happened since then that would have changed my mind."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," snarled Taylor. "Do you have any Veritaserum lying around? Dose him with that."

Remus felt his entire body tighten at the thought of Veritaserum. There had been only one time that he had been plied with that substance: right after the Potters' deaths. It had been brutal. The Aurors had been so certain he had known Sirius Black's plans and were bound and determined to get a confession from him one way or another. When he had maintained his innocence, they had become convinced that the potion hadn't been strong enough to counteract his basic Dark nature. Two days of Veritaserum overdosing and silver restraints had finally convinced them otherwise, but it had left him sick and nearly unable to walk. And it was only Moody's and Dumbledore's intervention that had gotten him released at that point.

_And they said I was just being questioned then, too. Is this going to be just like then? _

"Veritaserum is not necessary at this stage in the process," Moody was arguing.

"For Merlin's sake, Moody," Taylor said with an explosive sigh. "It's not like it's going to kill him or anything."

Remus hunched his shoulders and focused on his hands which were tightly interlaced and resting on his legs. As the argument went on around him, he chose to ignore it. They'd decide what they wanted him to do, and he'd have no choice but to do what they said. He didn't want to take the stuff. But if he did, they'd have to believe that he had nothing to do with the mermaid's death. _But they'd know I killed Libertas._ It was a terrible double-edged sword, and he was going to get cut one way or the other…

The conversation came to a crashing halt with a single question: "What do you think, Lupin?"

Startled, Remus raised his eyes to meet Moody's. "I'm sorry?"

"What do you think?" The man demanded.

What was the question? Were they even still discussing the Veritaserum?

His chest hurt. His lungs and heart were conspiring against him, making him ache with despair and fear.

"Were you even paying attention?" Higgins voice made him flinch.

"Thinking of lies to cover up what he's done," Taylor commented in an undertone.

Remus felt his face flush with anger. "I'm not going to lie about what I've done," he said quietly.

Taylor made a sound of disgust.

"You say you didn't kill the mermaid," Alexander said. "What about the centaur?"

_Will they believe me, that I had no choice? That Libertas was dying anyhow?_ Moody was staring at him with as much apprehension as he'd ever seen on the Auror's face. Moody already knew the answers. He was worried that Remus was going to not only take the rope that he'd been given, but make a tidy knot and slip his head through the noose. But Remus had to say something. "The centaur escaped," he finally said. "They tracked him down and shot him. Parsons asked me to heal him, but I couldn't."

Moody was still watching him closely and he knew why. He had to remain in control. He had to keep the wolf at bay. The Werewolf Control officer was just waiting for him to make a mistake.

"So the centaur died of his injuries?" Alexander prompted.

"He was dying of his injuries when Parsons took me to him, yes," Remus hedged.

"What did you do then?"

Garrison was giving him an odd look, and he realized that he had been rubbing his aching chest. He lowered his hands quickly.

"Mr Lupin, what did you do when Mr Parsons took you to the centaur?" Alexander repeated.

Remus looked at Dumbledore, whose expression was very grave indeed. _Does he think I killed Libertas in cold blood? He looks like he might believe that…_

There must have been some hint of what Remus was thinking because suddenly Dumbledore smiled gently at him. "Remus, whatever happened, we must hear it. You have to tell us what you know."

He couldn't catch his breath. Was this how one was supposed to feel when they confessed to murder? "My father… he knew spells... to help creatures… beyond saving. Clemency spells, he called them."

Moody's expression suddenly became thoughtful. Garrison's, however, became more horrified as he realized what kinds of spells Remus was referring to. The werewolf didn't look up at Alexander. Instead, he turned his eyes to the Headmaster and kept them focused on the older man. "He begged me," he whispered, feeling tears well in his eyes.

"Who begged you?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward. "The centaur?"

Even through his tears, to Remus' mind, the Headmaster's eyes seemed to sharpen in intensity. But then dizziness washed over him and he closed his eyes, with the strange feeling that a link had been broken…

"What did the centaur beg you to do?" Dumbledore's voice asked again.

Remus kept his eyes closed, struggling with the tears and the dizziness — and the nausea that seemed to come with it. "He knew he was dying. He didn't want to go back to the cage." He took as deep a breath as he could before adding, "He asked me for mercy."

"Mercy?" Dumbledore repeated.

Garrison groaned. At least, Remus thought it was Garrison.

He opened his eyes slowly, again finding the Headmaster's eyes. "Clemency," he whispered. "_Clementia Bestia_."

There was a shocked, very still silence. And then it was broken by five voices speaking at once. Remus didn't try to sort them out, which comment belonged to which man. They were all statements that ran in the same vein, anyhow: disbelief that he had admitted it, disbelief that he had killed — _murdered _— the centaur…

And then, Taylor's voice, cold yet strangely triumphant, rose over them all: "That should be enough to warrant a trial and restitution, even by your standards, Moody."

Remus winced and his shoulders jerked involuntarily.

"No, it isn't enough," the older Auror snapped. "Parsons claimed that Lupin was responsible for the centaur's death, but he neglected to tell us that the creature was already dying. It doesn't sound like what Lupin did was done in cold blood, or with malice, or for any other reason other than to end the thing's suffering. I don't see how we could make Lupin completely responsible for _that_."

"He _killed_ a creature!" Higgins insisted. "There must be justice for that!"

"Then we need to bring Parsons to trial as well for his part in this," Garrison said quietly, but firmly. "Or whoever it was who shot the centaur in the first place."

"Gods, you sound just like Moody," spat Taylor.

"But it only makes sense," Garrison said calmly. "If you want to talk about placing blame, then everyone who is responsible should share it. Parsons didn't tell the truth in the first place —"

"How do we know?" Taylor asked. "We've only got _this_ —" he motioned toward Remus, "to say differently."

"Remus is telling the truth," Dumbledore spoke for the first time since Remus' admission. "There was no lie in what he said."

"You can't possibly expect us to believe that!" Higgins exclaimed.

Again the voices rose angrily, sharply, and Remus winced at the volume. He leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands.

A sudden firm, comforting hand rested on his shoulder, and Dumbledore whispered in his ear, "You're doing fine."

_But for how much longer? _The wolf wasn't clawing for dominance. Instead, he felt cold and numb, and in some ways, it was even worse. The wolf, he could fight. The chilled emptiness was something else together. It was like a Dementor, sucking the joy, the warmth from his soul, and there was no Patronus that could combat it.

**Gosh, I hate cliffhangers! Who in their right mind actually ends a chapter with a cliffhanger?  
Of course, I teach kindergarten, which makes me wonder if I'm in my right mind...**


	23. Chapter 22:Catharsis

A/N: Thanks to SortingHat47 for her love and support and for saying, "You can do better!" even when I've rewritten a chapter 50 times already; she's almost always right! And thanks, too, to Zarathustra who is helping me understand that I should belong to a 12-step program for Comma-aholics...

And thanks to those of you who have reviewed and put this on alert and made it a favourite. This story has taken so many twists and turns--thanks for staying with it and with me! (Even though I did resort to a cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter...)

Disclaimer: Need I repeat myself? Not mine; JKRowlings. And Warner Brothers, apparently. Does anybody have an address where I can write to complain about the treatment of HBP?

**Chapter 22: Catharsis**

**Tuesday, 8 October, 1985--9:52 a.m. **

Severus Snape selected a bottle of horned slugs from the cabinet and carried it to his desk. Scanning the list of ingredients that the Hufflepuffs would need for their upcoming class, he realised he had forgotten the armadillo bile. As he turned to fetch it, there was a slight popping noise, and a house elf appeared beside him.

"Please, Master Snape, sir, the Headmaster is asking for Veritaserum."

"What?" Severus couldn't help the incredulous tone. Veritaserum was very rarely used at the school, and when it was, it could only be used with the agreement of the parents of the student involved. He hadn't heard that there had been an incident worthy of the potion.

"The Headmaster is saying to bring it to his office, sir," the house elf continued.

"Yes. Right away," Severus said quietly, turning away and heading for the locked cabinet where such dangerous and important potions were kept.

He took the time to snap his fingers at the chalkboard, upon which the words, "Page 319, Start immediately—work separately" suddenly appeared and then he left the dungeons for the long climb to the Headmaster's office.

The door at the top of the spiral stairs, which led into the Dumbledore's office, was closed, but he could almost feel an uneasy tension seeping through the thick wood. Something wasn't right. Lightly, he tapped at the door.

"Enter, Severus," the Headmaster called.

Upon entering the room, the Potions Master quickly scanned the room. There were seven men, including Dumbledore, Lupin, and Moody. The four men that were unfamiliar to him were attired in varying Ministry robes. It was a very impressive gathering, with the possible exception of Lupin, of course.

He approached the Headmaster's desk and placed the bottle of Veritaserum in front of Dumbledore. "The potion you requested, Headmaster," he said softly.

Dumbledore gave him a smile to thank him, but it seemed forced. There was a decidedly worried look in his eyes when he then asked, "What would you consider an appropriate amount for Remus?"

Snape tentatively eyed the werewolf. Lupin was leaning forward in his chair, with his left elbow on the Headmaster's desk, and his forehead resting in his hand. He looked utterly miserable, and for a moment, Severus nearly felt sorry for him. "I'd say three drops would be more than enough," the Potions Master replied.

"Would you administer that dose then, please?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Snape gave him a surprised look. This was serious.

Without wasting another moment, he conjured a small glass and filled it a fourth of the way with water. Gingerly, he added three drops of the Veritaserum.

"Should we test the effectiveness of it?" someone asked.

Severus bristled at the thought that anything he brewed would be substandard, but a quick warning look from Dumbledore made him hold his tongue.

"I'll do it," the young Auror offered.

"No," Moody growled. "I'm not going to have anyone saying later that you faked the results." He pointed to the Ministry official that had a "Beast Division" badge pinned to his robes. "You take it."

"Me?" The man reared back, startled. "Why me?"

"Because of everyone here, you're the only one that we would all trust to give us an honest reaction."

The man glanced around the room nervously.

"We won't take advantage," Moody suddenly added.

The Ministry official finally gulped and nodded. "All right."

"It is best to drink the entire dose in one swallow," Severus recommended as he slid the glass across the desk toward the other man. He glanced at Lupin. The werewolf hadn't moved at all. Allowing his curiosity to show the tiniest bit, the Potions Master looked at Dumbledore. The wizard had his eyes on the Ministry man who was now drinking the potion and didn't notice Snape's curious gaze.

The empty glass was plunked onto the desk. "How long until it takes effect?" the man asked Snape.

"Results are nearly instantaneous," Severus told him. "How many years have you worked at the Ministry?"

"Ten," the man replied easily.

"Try lying," Moody suggested. "What is your full name?"

"Derrick Na-Na-Barnabas Alla-Alexander. Damn!" His face was pink from the effort of lying.

The older Auror turned to the other two Ministry men. "Acceptable, then?"

They both nodded curtly, and Moody motioned to Lupin. "Hit him up, then, Snape."

Again, Severus filled the glass about a fourth of the way and added three drops of the Veritaserum. Slowly, he pushed the glass in front of Lupin's gaze.

The werewolf regarded the glass for a moment then slowly straightened. When he looked up at Severus, there was a coldness in his eyes that made Snape instantly wary.

"Double it, Severus, if you please," he said quietly.

"The dose will not be as effective if there's twice as much water —"

Lupin was already shaking his head. "No, not the water. Double the dose. In fact, add five drops to it."

"Remus, no!" Dumbledore said sharply at the same time that Moody growled, "You're mad, Lupin!"

"It's what you gave me four years ago," Lupin's gaze snapped to stare unflinchingly at Moody. "The Aurors didn't believe me until there were eight drops in every dose. You think they'll believe me with only three?" The hard blue eyes bored into Snape's black ones. "Five more, Severus. Now."

"Eight drops can cause irreparable damage," Severus pointed out.

"Tell everyone you told me so at my funeral," the werewolf snapped. "Just do it."

The Potions Master could have argued with him, but he recognized the futility of it. Besides, what did it matter to him anyway? It was just Lupin…

Over the young Auror's protests, Severus added another five drops to the water. Immediately, as if worried that someone was going to interfere — or that he was going to lose his nerve — Lupin downed the potion.

They all stared at him. His face contorted briefly as he fought with the nausea that came with Veritaserum overdosing.

"Are you all right, Remus?" Dumbledore asked after a few minutes.

"Y-y— Oh, hell. No." Remus chuckled bitterly. "Can't even bloody lie about that."

And then the questions flew, fast and furious. Severus retreated to a vantage point behind the Beast Division official. The class of Hufflepuffs was forgotten as he listened, fascinated, to Lupin's story of all that had happened at the carnival.

Long days of captivity, the shredding of pride and dignity, anger, frustration, fear — there was little that was left untouched by the men. The struggle to master wandless magic and the devastation that had led to the loss of it — Lupin answered every question put to him, pausing only to control emotions that he had deliberately exposed to their probing.

It wasn't until near the end of the interrogation — for there was no doubt in his mind that's what it was — that Severus became aware of the original reason for the presence of so many Ministry officials in one room. The centaur, Libertas, lived and breathed once again there in Dumbledore's office. And, then again, he died at Lupin's hands because of his plea for mercy.

Finally overwhelmed and having given more than he should ever have been asked, Lupin collapsed, sobbing, his head buried in his arms on Dumbledore's desk. Severus found himself intrigued at the fact that the Headmaster and Moody had allowed the questioning to take the twists and turns that it had. Considering how they felt about Lupin, why had they allowed the other men to ask Lupin about the Torpeus Draught? Why had they allowed Lupin to answer questions about the degradations that Bill Parsons had put him through, both as man and wolf?

The Headmaster suddenly stood and gently placed a hand on Remus' back. "Are there any other questions, gentlemen?"

If there were any remaining questions, they were shoved aside. Even Taylor seemed to recognize that any further questions were superfluous.

Alexander cleared his throat. "I am willing to accept Mr Lupin's explanation of events as fact. As far as I'm concerned, restitution by Mr Lupin is not necessary"

Garrison and Moody immediately agreed. Then they looked to Taylor and Higgins.

Taylor nodded curtly. "I see no reason to continue with this: questioning or trial."

Higgins was the Ministry worker most shaken by Remus' account, yet he hesitated before giving his verdict. "I think it's obvious that Mr Parsons misrepresented things greatly." It seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but shook his head instead. "I need to return to work," he said. "If you gentlemen will excuse me…"

Slowly, the others left as well until only Snape and Dumbledore remained with Remus, who still hadn't moved. The Headmaster went to a cabinet and removed a bottle of wine and three glasses. As he did so, sudden realisation set in. "Do you not have classes, Severus?"

Snape looked startled for only a moment. "The Hufflepuffs were given their instructions." He glanced at a clock on one of the Headmaster's bookshelves. "The Ravenclaws should know what needs to be done and have the intelligence to do it. I will only miss a small part of their class."

The werewolf lifted his head and his eyes rested on Snape's and, for just a split second, resentment and anger were in his expression. But, just as quickly as it had appeared, it passed. "Thank you, Severus," Remus said quietly.

The dark-haired man lowered his eyebrows. "I have done nothing."

"You did exactly as I asked you to, even though I know it was something you had no desire to do." Lupin wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "You'd have been as glad to see them…" He stopped, obviously with an effort. "Damned stuff," he muttered.

The Headmaster gently placed a goblet in the Potion Master's hand and gave the third goblet to Remus, who downed the wine in a few quick swallows.

As Dumbledore reached to refill the glass, Lupin shook his head. "If you have no more torture planned for me, I'm going to try to make it back to my room without getting sick."

"I know you must be exhausted," Dumbledore said. "Get some rest. I will be by in a while." He waited until Remus had gotten unsteadily to his feet then reached out to put his hand on Remus' shoulder. "You did well. For what it's worth, I am very proud of you." The werewolf merely nodded then limped out of the office. They listened until they could no longer hear his uneven footsteps on the stairs.

Severus sipped at his wine and watched the Headmaster closely as he said with a sneer, "Obviously, Lupin could no longer hide behind you and your mercy."

"The main issues — the charges that had been brought against him — could not be avoided, no matter my position. I would have stepped in had I seen it was too much for Remus to handle," Dumbledore said staring pensively out the window. "However this was the one chance that we were going to have to get the complete, truthful explanation of what happened while Remus was at that carnival. We needed to know so we can help him heal. We needed to know so we can help him find peace. And, most of all, Severus, he needed to find his own answers."

He sat down behind his desk and smoothed his robes over his legs. After a moment, he continued: "You and Remus have both come to rely on walls and masks to conceal your fear and anger, and as a result you also hide away passion and joy. Remus needed today — as terrible as it was. So much had been stripped away from him, leaving him with no idea of who he was, or even _why_ he was. Through telling his story, he was able to see for himself where he'd changed, how he'd changed — and how he has gotten stronger. Yes, Severus, there is no doubt that he is a much stronger person for what he's gone through. Before this ordeal, he would never have demanded that you give him eight drops of that potion. Four years ago, he was in this same sort of situation because of his friendship with the Potters. It nearly destroyed him. This time, yes, he was broken, but we both know you can't fix something if it isn't broken. I think he can begin to heal now."

He fell silent, stroking his beard. "He was angry at me for making choices for him. I see now how wrong I've been. He took control from all of us. He did it the moment he asked for the increase of Veritaserum. I have severely underestimated him yet again." He sighed. "That seems to be a chronic failure of mine."

Severus waited a moment for the older wizard to elaborate. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to, Snape finished his wine and took himself back to the dungeons and the Ravenclaws.

**1:15**** p.m.**

Remus was lying on his back in the middle of a grassy expanse. The sky was bluer than he'd ever seen, and the clouds seemed as lazy as he felt right now.

A face suddenly blocked out his vision of the sky. "Moony, shouldn't you be working?"

"Bugger off, James."

"Ooh, he's testy!" The bespectacled young man plopped himself on the ground next to the werewolf. "What's got your knickers in such a twist?"

"Thinking," Remus replied.

"Idiot. We know how you are when you start thinking. You'll be miserable for the rest of the day."

"No," Remus said thoughtfully, "I won't. Not this time."

"What's different, then?" James asked.

Remus considered the question and was as surprised as James when he smiled and replied, "Everything."

**1:****20 p.m.**

Albus Dumbledore smiled. He hadn't seen Remus Lupin look that peaceful in years. He closed the door very, very quietly so he wouldn't awaken the young man and then went in search of Filius Flitwick. He had a small matter he needed to discuss with him…

**Wednesday, 9 October--3****:42 p.m.**

"Minerva, I can't find Remus. Have you any idea of where he might be?"

Her quill didn't stop moving. "I was unaware that it was my turn to watch him, Albus."

"I thought perhaps you might know where he had a habit of going when he needed to be alone."

She pursed her lips, scrawled, "Ask someone for the answers if you're not going to read the book! Dreadful!" at the top of the essay in front of her, then rested her quill in the small pot of ink. "I don't know whether his habits now would be the same as they were eight years ago, but I know he liked to walk out to look at Kettleburn's creatures."

"Ah. That is one place I never thought to look," Dumbledore admitted. He smiled broadly. "Thank you, Minerva."

The Transfiguration professor wondered why he looked like he was inordinately pleased with himself.

**4****:12 p.m. **

Remus pulled his cloak tighter to his body. The rain that had been threatening to fall all day had let loose at last, in what felt like freezing needles.

As he reached for the latch on the small door that would open into a hallway near the Potions classrooms, the door was jerked open. Surprised, he reared back, almost losing his balance. Strong fingers grabbed his sleeve, pulling him forward and into the dryness and relative warmth of the hallway.

"There you are, Remus!" The Headmaster said cheerfully.

Remus lowered the hood of his cloak and gazed with surprise at the man. "You were looking for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I was. I need to talk to you about something. Why don't you take your cloak up to your room and then come up to my office? I'll have some hot cocoa ready for you."

Remus tilted his head and gave the older man a wary look. "If this visit to your office is anything like the visit yesterday morning, I'd just as soon give it a miss, thank you all the same."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I do not doubt that at all. No, this is for a much different reason. I have a proposition for you."

Remus' lips twitched and then quirked into a half-smile as he said, "It doesn't entail any removal of clothing or money exchanging hands, does it?"

The Headmaster looked at him for just a moment and then began laughing heartily. "No, it does not!" He shook his head. "Alastor would have appreciated that." He clapped Remus on the shoulder. "I'll see you in about fifteen minutes, all right?" And without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away.

**4****:30 p.m.**

Even though Remus trusted that there were no unpleasant surprises waiting for him in Dumbledore's office, he still felt a twinge of trepidation as he knocked on the door to the Headmaster's Office.

Within a few minutes, however, he was ensconced in a chair in front of Dumbledore's fireplace with his chilled fingers wrapped firmly around a mug of hot cocoa.

"I won't be so cruel as to engage you in idle conversation and make you wonder why you're here," Dumbledore said, placing his own mug of hot cocoa on the small table in between them. "I've been talking to Madame Pomfrey. She tells me that while your leg has improved greatly, you would benefit from another month of rest."

Considering how his leg was aching at that moment, Remus thought he might agree with that assessment. However, he couldn't stay here for another month — could he?

"I have an idea that will give you something to do: something challenging but very rewarding. In exchange, you'll get free room and board here, as well as more time to recover and find a more substantial position elsewhere. Would you be interested?"

"I suppose it all depends on what it is," Remus replied, running his thumb thoughtfully across his bottom lip.

Dumbledore steepled his forefingers and watched the werewolf over the tips. "There is a student in Ravenclaw — a fifth-year — who has been having some problems. In fact, it was debated last year if he should repeat his fourth year studies."

Remus suddenly thought of the young man he'd met at the top of the Astronomy Tower just a couple of days ago. "Jonathan Blotts," he murmured.

The Headmaster's eyebrows rose. "Exactly. How –?"

"I met him day before yesterday. At the top of the Astronomy Tower."

The older man didn't ask what either Remus or Jonathan had been doing there. Perhaps he didn't want to know. "Jonathan is extremely bright. When he has been shown how to do something, he can perfect it quickly. However, when it comes to theory or writing essays, he has difficulty. He does well in a few classes —"

"Astronomy, Creatures, and History," Remus said without thinking.

"You two must have had quite a lengthy conversation," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "But you're right. He's had tutors, and he's exhausted several. I wondered if perhaps you would tutor our young Mr Blotts."

Remus gave him a sceptical glance. "You think more tutoring is going to help?"

"I think tutoring with the right person will help," Dumbledore corrected.

"How do you know I'd be the right person?"

"First of all, you're here," the Headmaster said simply. "You need something to occupy your time and to keep you busy. Tutoring Jonathan Blotts will accomplish that. But most importantly, I've seen the reference that Pindar Alatza is going to give you. You have a great deal of patience with your students — which by all accounts, he needs. I will be expecting him to work with you at least two hours every night — more if you can convince him of it.

"You know, Jonathan's father might also be convinced to give you a substantial discount at their bookstore in appreciation for your work," Dumbledore mused. "And you'd have another favourable reference."

"If I can do miracles. What are you hoping I can accomplish? Getting him caught up to the fifth year standards? Giving him enough confidence to do well on his O.W.L.s? What?"

"If I said I'm hoping for both of those, would you still accept the challenge?" Dumbledore asked. His blue eyes were fastened intently on Remus' face, trying to see beneath the carefully maintained façade.

"How long are you expecting this to take?" Remus asked.

"However long you can give me," Dumbledore replied.

"What about my lycanthropy? Are you going to tell Jonathan's father that a werewolf is in the school and teaching his son?"

"No."

Remus sipped at the hot cocoa and then, realising that it had cooled enough to comfortably swallow, took a longer drink. The truth was, he had few options at this moment, and he knew it. This would keep him fed and housed, and, as Dumbledore had pointed out, would give him something worthwhile to occupy his time.

"I have taken the liberty of asking each of Jonathan's professors for a short assessment of what skills he is most lacking in," the Headmaster said, interrupting his thoughts and pulling a folded piece of parchment from a pocket in his robes.

Remus took it from the older wizard's hand and opened it. As he scanned it, his eyebrows lowered until he was scowling. "You want me to teach him all of _this_?" he asked incredulously.

"No, no," Dumbledore said, with a wave of his hand. "Not _all_ of that." Then he smiled. "Just as much of it as you can."

Remus stared at the Headmaster. A chuckle escaped him. "I don't know whether you think I'm so daft that I'll agree to do this or you have that much faith in my abilities."

"Oh, definitely the latter," Dumbledore assured him, "though I hope for enough Gryffindor bravery from you to attempt it."

"I'm not anywhere near good enough in Potions to satisfy Snape," Remus said, eying the dark, angular script that listed Jonathan Blotts' disabilities in that subject.

"Then don't worry about Potions for now," Dumbledore said. "Concentrate on things you know you can do well. Leave Potions for another time."

Remus looked at him sharply. "Another time? I'll barely be able to fit a fourth of this," he held up the piece of parchment, "in a month's time."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said, "Then you'll just have to stay longer."

The werewolf froze. It couldn't just be that simple, could it? "How long are you suggesting I stay?"

The Headmaster picked up his mug. "Stay until Christmas. That will give you two and a half months to work with Jonathan. During that time, you can start looking for another placement. You can use the Christmas holidays as a chance to set up interviews. If nothing presents itself, you can stay even longer." He took a drink, keeping his eyes on the younger man. "It's a good idea, Remus. And even _you_ can't deny it."

It certainly seemed as if Dumbledore had thought things through carefully and thoroughly. Of course, Remus would not have expected anything less. However, there was still one thing — always the same thing — that stood in the way of Remus accepting the proposition immediately and unconditionally.

"What if he figures out what I am?" Remus asked. "He loves magical creatures, and while he may not hate me for being a werewolf, he may very well be so excited about it that he'd tell everyone. Starting with his friends and parents. And his friends will tell their parents…"

"Remus, must you borrow trouble when there is none?"

"It's preparing for the inevitable."

"I can see now why you were often accused of being a pessimist," Dumbledore mused.

They both ignored the fact that it had been Sirius that had made that accusation — frequently and loudly.

"I'm a realist," Remus protested, as he always did when faced with that indictment. "I have to prepare for what I know will happen."

"If the fact of your lycanthropy becomes known, it will be me who shoulders the responsibility. They will question me about the wisdom in hiring such an individual. You, on the other hand, will have already helped young Mr Blotts enough that they will appreciate what you have done, even if they fear what could have happened."

Remus was silent, considering the consequences.

"What are you thinking, Remus?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"I want to say yes," the younger man admitted. "It's — it seems perfect. For now, that is," he added hastily. "It somehow seems too perfect, though."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Oh, it will be far from perfect. Jonathan will no doubt test your mettle. And don't forget—Severus will no doubt take every opportunity to tell you that you're here taking Hogwarts charity because of my pity."

Remus felt his heart clench with the realisation that Severus would be saying things that Remus himself would be thinking.

"Are you strong enough to face Severus' scorn?" Dumbledore asked. "That might be the most difficult thing about this position."

"He really will be annoyed at this," Remus said slowly.

"Most probably," the older wizard agreed.

James would have laughed and said, "Take it, Moony! It's a great opportunity even if Snape will be picking at you." Peter would have agreed and said, "You won't have anything to worry about for a couple of months, Moony. Won't that be a good thing?" Sirius, however, would have howled with laughter and said, "You _have_ to take it! If only to twist Snivellus' knickers into knots! Thousands of teensy, tiny knots! What kind of Marauder would you be if you turned this down? In fact, do you think you could get me a job there too?"

Remus was smiling as he said, "Let's give it a go."

**Thursday, 10 October—8:47 a.m.**

Jonathan Blotts entered the Headmaster's office looking more curious than frightened. Remus could only guess it was because the boy knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Or, the werewolf reflected, suddenly recognizing the expression that had been plastered on his own face more than once, Jonathan was reasonably sure he hadn't been _caught_.

While Remus thought about the reasons why he himself had been called to the Headmaster's office as a student, Dumbledore greeted Jonathan.

"I understand you have already met Remus Lupin."

Jonathan smiled and nodded, extending his hand. "Yes, I have. Mr Lupin, how are you, sir?"

"Doing well, thank you for asking. And you?"

"Well, you know," Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Potions is still Potions."

Remus choked down the need to laugh. "And always will be so, I fear," he replied.

Dumbledore waited until they were seated before continuing. "Mr Blotts, several of your professors have expressed concerns that you are unable to perform at a standard fifth-year level. What are your thoughts on this?"

The boy's face fell.

_Caught,_ thought Remus.

"It's true, sir. I suppose there's no use in saying otherwise."

"Very wise," Dumbledore said. "And that could be one reason the Sorting Hat chose you for Ravenclaw."

The boy muttered something, of which Remus heard part. He chuckled before he could stop himself.

"Care to share the joke?" the Headmaster asked, looking from the current student to the former one.

Remus glanced at Jonathan, who flushed slightly, but didn't try to stop him from answering.

"I do believe Mr Blotts was implying that the Sorting Hat might have, at least on one occasion, overindulged in firewhiskey."

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, I would suppose it does seem like that to you, but, Mr Blotts, I am going to give you a chance to prove and _im_prove yourself."

"How so, sir?"

"I have found you a tutor," the Headmaster said. "Not a fellow student, but someone older, very capable and very skilled. He will be working with you from now until at least Christmas to get you caught up to your classmates."

The boy's lips twisted into a contemplative frown. "Until Christmas? Do you think that's enough time?"

"It should, at the very least, be a good start," Dumbledore assured him, "especially as I'm going to expect you to work at least two or three hours a day with your tutor. And this is in addition to your classes—not in place of them."

Jonathan's frown deepened. "But I won't have time for anything else!"

"Mr Blotts, I think you have definitely reached the point in your academic career when other interests must be put aside," the Headmaster said in an almost severe tone.

The boy bit his lip.

"Mr Lupin has a list of the things that the professors would like you to work on, and he will decide which things he will address and the order in which he will teach them. I expect you to cooperate fully with him."

The Ravenclaw looked at Remus. "_You're_ going to be my tutor?"

Remus shrugged. "I have nothing better to do."

"Mr Lupin will decide when you will meet, and nothing — nothing, Mr Blotts — should keep you from meeting him at that exact time and the exact location which he selects. If he tells me that you have been even the slightest bit delinquent in your responsibility to him and your studies, there will be consequences to be paid. Do you understand this?"

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, sir." His manner was very subdued. Remus wondered if it was because he was overwhelmed, fearful, or angry.

Dumbledore must have had the same thought, for he sat back. "Jonathan, I suppose this seems exceedingly strict, but you are already in jeopardy of having to repeat your fifth year. I need you to understand the seriousness of the situation."

"Do my parents know about this?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "You already know they have received owls from your professors as to your struggles. I sent them an owl this morning telling them that I had found a qualified tutor to help you."

Jonathan sighed.

Dumbledore suddenly smiled. "Although he may be firm, I think you'll find Mr Lupin easy to work with, so I don't think you'll find it nearly as much of a hardship as you believe it to be. Now, do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Now," the Headmaster again leaned forward and picked up a quill, "if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Remus, if you'd be so kind as to escort Mr Blotts to his Transfiguration class and offer my apologies for his tardiness, I would be grateful."

Jonathan and Remus made their way down the stairs and several feet along the corridor before the boy spoke. "Tutoring me is better than throwing yourself off the Astronomy Tower, then?"

Remus smiled. "I would say so, yes. Certainly less messy. It remains to be seen which is more painful."

Jonathan gave him a quick glance. "You've got an odd sense of humour."

"Oh, just wait until I find something truly amusing," Remus said.

The boy was silent again until the neared the Transfiguration classroom. "Mr Lupin," he stopped, seemingly uncomfortable with whatever he was going to say.

"Yes?"

"Do you think there's any hope that you will get me caught up to my classmates?"

Remus cocked his head to one side and regarded the boy thoughtfully. "Do you want to catch up?" he asked.

Jonathan nodded.

"I'm the best shot you have at it then. And I'm certainly motivated. If you don't get caught up, Dumbledore might bloody well _push_ me off the Astronomy Tower." Remus smiled and waited for the boy to do the same. "I'll meet you at six o'clock in the library. Bring your Arithmancy and Ancient Runes texts with you." Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and said, "Professor McGonagall, forgive the intrusion…"

**Yes, yes, I know you all saw it coming. But tell me it wasn't a good idea! I dare you!  
Thanks for reading! **


	24. Chapter 23: Practical Lessons

A/N: Today's chapter is brought to you by Zarathustra, the brilliant beta, and SortingHat47, the fabulous friend. All spelling, grammatical, and punctuation errors have been expunged by those two talented ladies (at least, I hope so. They tell me that, at any rate...)

Disclaimer: The characters you recognize are not mine. They belong to JKRowling. Jonathan Blotts is mine, however. Poor kid.

**Chapter 23: Practical Lessons**

**Monday, 14 October, 1985—7:02 p.m.**

"I am never going to get this," Jonathan moaned for the fourth time that night.

"You will," Remus reiterated for the fourth time.

"Why do I need to know this anyhow?" the boy huffed. "I'm just going to get a job working with animals, and they don't eat Ancient Runes."

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the knot that was forming from the tension of bending over the books for too long. "Have you ever thought about taming dragons?"

The boy blinked. "Well, of course I have, but —"

"Do you realize that most basic texts on the behaviours of Norwegian Ridgebacks and Swedish Short-Snouts are written in runes?"

"There are translations out there, surely."

"There are," Remus agreed. "But, what if the translation is faulty? What if the translator mixed up the runes, and tells you a young dragon will flame at eight months, when in actuality it flames at four months? That's quite a difference, especially if you're the one that looks and feels like a piece of toast."

"You're a sick bastard," Jonathan commented.

"You have no idea," Remus smiled wolfishly.

**Friday, 25 October, 1985—6:15 p.m.**

"I am never going to get this!" yelled Jonathan.

Madame Pince cast an angry glance in his direction.

Remus, however, was even angrier. He had heard that phrase one too many times. He heard it at least four times every night, and he had already heard it twice tonight. He was absolutely sick of it. It didn't help that the full moon was in a matter of days…

"No, Jonathan, you're never going to get it!" he snapped. "I sit here night after night with you, working with you, explaining things to you, and you're never going to get it. Your essays are slowly improving, you've translated several passages of runes this week with few mistakes… Yes, I can see how you're never going to get it." He stood up and flipped the Ancient Runes book closed, and tossed the Arithmancy text on top of it. "You know what? There's no point in trying to teach someone who believes they're unteachable. When you decide you're ready, you come find me. I'm done."

With that, he stalked out of the library, not bothering to look behind him to see what expression was on the boy's face.

His long legs eventually took him to the Staff Room, where he found Flitwick and Kettleburn playing a game of wizard's chess. No one else was there.

"What's happened, lad?" Kettleburn demanded, seeing the rigidity of Remus' posture and recognizing it as anger.

"That boy keeps telling himself he can't do it, when I have shown him repeatedly that he _can_. I'm sick of reassuring him three or four times every night that he has the ability."

"He's been telling himself he can't do it for years now," Flitwick said quietly after a moment. "It's difficult for him to change his mind about his abilities after what he's suspected about himself has been proven over and over again."

Remus stared at him, confused. "What do you mean, 'what he's suspected about himself'?"

Flitwick sent a knight to challenge a bishop. "That he's stupid, of course."

"But he's _not_ stupid!" Remus insisted.

"No, but he has been told that by many people. Some of his friends have said it to him. Oh, I'm sure they meant it jokingly, but he already suspects it's true. Having everyone say it is like verifying it."

Remus tilted his head down, resting his chin on one long-fingered hand.

"It would be the same as you believing you're the bloodthirsty creature everyone tells you that you are," Kettleburn said, countering Flitwick's knight with a rook.

"But I am," Remus protested.

"See what I mean?" The Magical Creatures professor smiled.

Flitwick ordered his queen in the direction of Kettleburn's king. "Check."

Seeing that the game was becoming even more intense, Remus left and went walking aimlessly through the corridors. The things that Flitwick and Kettleburn had said made sense. He was dismayed, however, that he hadn't thought of these things on his own. And he couldn't blame it entirely on the coming full moon.

How was it that he had misinterpreted Jonathan's lack of self-confidence so badly? Especially — he winced — when he had done it himself? No, not about being a bloodthirsty creature; that was true, and he couldn't change that. But, there had been things he had believed about himself — until others had convinced him otherwise…

"_I'm nothing but an animal," he had said._

"_You're not an animal," James had instantly said in contradiction. "You just have a… a furry little problem."_

_Sirius had laughed loudly._

"_But you don't understand," Remus had protested. "I smell things differently. I can hear what people say when they're whispering, even if I stand on the other side of the room. My senses aren't _human_!"_

_And Sirius had looked at him with a puzzled expression. "So if someone can't hear at all, or can't smell anything, does that make them not human too?"_

_Remus had blinked. "That makes no sense."_

"_Yes, it does," Sirius protested. "You're arguing that if someone smells and hears things like everyone else, then they must be human. Because you sense things stronger than we do, that makes you not human. It must work in opposites, too, right? If someone doesn't smell or hear things like a 'normal' human being, then they aren't human. Right?"_

He hadn't been able to argue with Sirius' logic. Mainly because he was confused and tired, but also because it was more trouble than it was worth to debate young Mr Black on any topic, much less this one. He knew full well he'd lose that fight.

And then, more recently—his mind echoed with memories of Bill Parsons calling him "Wolf" with such scorn, caging him, drugging him—until he felt inhuman all over again. Even Libertas had called him "Wolf." And though it was with concern or gentle mockery, it still was meant to point out the difference between Remus and the people visiting the carnival. The precious illusion that his friends had created in convincing him that he was as normal as anyone could be with such a monstrous problem had been torn away viciously and with such certainty that Remus felt the rawness of it still.

_Was it because of my inhuman nature that I was unable to sense Jonathan's frustration? Was it because I've let the wolf take more than I thought that I couldn't sympathize or empathize with him? _

Well, there was no help for it tonight. Both he and Jonathan would sleep on it, and tomorrow would be better.

**Saturday, 26 October-Monday, 28 October**

It should have been better; except that when Remus tried to find Jonathan to apologize, the boy was nowhere to be found. When he finally did see Blotts at dinner, the boy hurried away when he spotted Remus coming toward him.

Angry with himself that he had possibly driven the boy away and destroyed whatever good their tutoring sessions had done, Remus decided to give up the search Saturday evening.

On Sunday, his mood was even more foul, so he spent much of the day helping Kettleburn groom the Thestrals. There was something therapeutic in working out knots and tangles in manes and tails and in brushing the skeletal bodies until they glistened like black silk.

By the time he was finished, however, he was too exhausted for dinner in the Great Hall. He did call for a house-elf to bring him some dinner, but he fell asleep before he could finish it.

On Monday, the day of the full moon, he awoke with a brain-crushing headache. He staggered to the hospital wing where Poppy gave him a potion to help with the pain. He slept on one of the hospital's cots for an hour and then decided to take himself to the Shrieking Shack early.

"With darkness falling earlier, and the moon rising earlier, that's a good idea," the matron agreed when he told her where he was going.

At lunchtime, while the students were mostly ensconced in the Great Hall, he descended into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. By the time he made it to the Shack and let himself drop onto the dilapidated four poster bed, he was sweating and his head was pounding even worse. He was relieved that the wards that he and Moody had reworked in September would still be strong enough to hold him now. He didn't think he'd be capable of even a simple _Alohomora_ right now.

It was then that he realized that he should have written a note of some sort to Jonathan. He groaned at his stupidity and forgetfulness. If the boy talked to him at all after this, it would be a miracle.

**Tuesday, 29 October—7:41 a.m.**

Someone was tugging at his arm.

No, someone was wrapping his arm with something soft but binding. The sharp, spicy smell of a strong healing unguent made his nose twitch.

"…And then you'll be as good as new." The voice that had been droning in his ear for a while now was suddenly breaking into individual words, and those words were finally gaining meaning.

He slowly opened his eyes.

"There you are," Poppy Pomfrey said with a reassuring smile. "You'll be pleasantly surprised, I think."

He lifted his head and glanced down over his form. He couldn't see much: the matron had covered him with a thick, woollen blanket and had pulled it up to his shoulders.

"The worst one is here on your arm," she continued. "And while you didn't break the skin, you're going to have a sizable bruise here." Her fingers skimmed along the side of his face with a butterfly's touch. "The other cuts and gouges are all shallow enough that they'll be healed in a day or two."

He winced at a twinge of pain from his side.

"Rib," he muttered.

"Oh, really?" She looked surprised. "I didn't think — well, you'd know if anyone did." Still, she passed her wand over him, muttering something that he knew was a diagnostic spell. "You're right," she confirmed. "Still, it's only cracked, and a little Skele-Gro will take care of that in no time."

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"Oh, it's almost time for breakfast. I thought we'd try to get you up to the hospital wing now while the hallways are clear."

Her plan was the same as when he had been a student, and it worked now as effectively as it had then. Before long, he was resting in one of the hospital wing's cots, with a screen surrounding him and offering a bit of privacy against prying eyes.

He slept for a few hours and then, rib healed and pain at a tolerable level, he hobbled back to his room for more sleep. His last thought as he snuggled beneath the blankets of his bed was one of regret that he had again forgotten to write a note to Jonathan.

**7:42 p.m.**

The knock startled him. He certainly hadn't been expecting guests. Everyone who would care to talk to him would know that he was more than likely sleeping, or at least resting.

He closed the book he'd been reading, using his finger to mark his spot. "Come in."

The door opened slowly, revealing someone he definitely hadn't been expecting. "Mr Lupin? May I come in?"

"Yes, of course." Remus pointed to the chair next to the bed. "I'm surprised to see you here."

The boy seemed to look everywhere but straight at Remus as he perched himself stiffly on the edge of the chair. "You did tell me to come find you when—"

Remus cut him off. "Stop before you say another word, Jonathan."

The young Ravenclaw finally looked into Remus' eyes. The werewolf saw the boy's surprise as he saw what remained of the "sizable bruise" that Pomfrey had warned Remus about, even after a bruise-healing potion. Remus didn't give him time to ask the obvious questions about where or how his tutor had gotten it.

"I wanted to come find you, actually, but then I had an accident of sorts," he offered a quick smile, trying to make it seem that whatever incident he was going to make up later had been rather silly or insignificant. "It bothered me all weekend, what I said to you and how I said it. I made a terrible mistake, Jonathan." He cleared his throat. "I lost my temper. I don't often do that, and I'm very sorry that I did it to you; especially when I was very wrong."

"No, sir, you were right. I know that now."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes." Jonathan leaned forward a little. "David and I were talking, and I told him what had happened. And he — he told me that I was stupid —"

"You're not stupid!" Remus growled.

"No, wait!" The boy said. "He said I was stupid because I let other people tell me things that I should know better than to believe. He made me tell him everything you've taught me in the past two weeks, and then he reminded me that for the first time ever, I got an O on an Ancient Runes essay. And I didn't get to tell you that Professor Snape gave me an A for that essay on hellebore that you helped me with. So," the boy paused to bite his lip, "I started realising I am doing better. And I realised that I am capable of doing this. I just need to push myself harder. And," he smiled, "I still need a little help from someone who can explain things to me in a way that I can understand it."

Remus gave the boy a genuine smile this time. "It sounds like David is a very wise person."

"Well, there's no doubt why he's in Ravenclaw," Jonathan said with a snort. "I'm not quite sure why he bothers with me —"

"Stop right there," Remus snapped.

The boy reared back, his eyes wide and startled.

Cursing himself for his sharpness, the werewolf shook his head. "Don't put yourself down. You're an intelligent person, Jonathan, and you know more about magical creatures than most seventh-years. Your biggest problem is your lack of self-confidence, not that you're stupid or not deserving of friendship."

The boy bit his lip.

Remus rubbed his forehead, wincing at the twinge from the gouge in his arm as he did. "I can tell you things that I see in you, and you're not going to believe a word of it; I know that. But I think David is right: you need to stop listening to others when they tell you you're stupid, or that you don't have the ability to do something. The more you do what you thought was impossible, the more you'll come to understand and believe in yourself." He gave a small chuckle. "It's a difficult thing, and it might take a while, but it'll happen."

"And in the meantime?" the boy asked.

"In the meantime," Remus shrugged, "we keep working."

"Speaking of working," Jonathan asked after a moment's thought, "when can we start working again? I have a paper due on how to Vanish a mouse."

"Well, if you see me at dinner in the Great Hall tomorrow, we'll meet in the library at six. If I'm not at dinner, then come here."

Jonathan smiled and stood up. "I suppose I should leave you to rest. You, er, look like you could use it."

"I daresay I do," Remus replied wryly.

The boy had his hand on the doorknob when he suddenly turned and asked the question Remus had been dreading: "What kind of accident did you have?"

Remus forced a laugh. "Honestly, Jonathan, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

**Thursday, 12 December—8:52 p.m.**

Remus ran his long finger firmly along the last fold, then picked the parchment up and adjusted the wing on the left side. He cast a critical eye along the aeroplane's body, pinching the nose up slightly. With a slight smile of satisfaction, he gave it a toss. It sailed across the room, wobbling slightly and crashed into the wall to the immediate right of Professor Snape, who had just come in through the door.

The black eyes narrowed and the Potions Master glared at the werewolf. "Must you be such a child, Lupin?"

"Sorry, Severus." Before Snape could mutter something about his apology being insincere, Remus _Accio_ed the plane and folded it flat. "I was just wondering if I still remembered how to —"

"Obviously you do," the other man interrupted. "I hope your curiosity is now sated so that I can enter a room without being attacked."

Filius Flitwick chuckled. "Oh, come now, Severus. It's a harmless thing."

"Sirius used to –" The pang that always came when he mentioned Sirius by name caught Remus by surprise, rendering him speechless for a moment. Flitwick and McGonagall's sympathetic glances helped to spur him on through the rest of the sentence, "He used to charm them to fire tiny chalk pellets at the younger students."

"Such a worthwhile pastime," Snape said derisively. "Now, if you've finished with your childish games, Lupin, I'd like to have a word with you."

"Have several," Remus said, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms across his chest.

The Potions Master scowled deeply. "I wondered if you had made any attempt at tutoring Blotts in Potions."

"Beyond helping him write the essays you assign? No, I haven't," Remus said.

There was a silence as Severus waited for Remus to elaborate. When it didn't happen, the dark-haired man snarled, "Do you have an idea of when you're going to attempt such a thing?"

"Severus, we both know you want me nowhere near your rooms. You'll say my teaching methods are unorthodox and shoddy and my potion-making ability deplorable. I'd be a fool to put myself or Jonathan in that situation."

"That all depends on whether your potion-making ability has improved at all since you were a student, does it not?" Severus asked softly. "And if your teaching methods really are unorthodox and shoddy."

"I hardly think you would be the best judge," Remus replied.

Snape's lip curled in a sneer, but before he could say anything, Minerva McGonagall snapped, "Gentlemen! What is it with you two, that you cannot be within each other's presence for a minute without acting like children?"

Severus pointed to the paper aeroplane. "Obviously, one of us still believes he is a child."

Remus laughed. "Better than an overgrown bat, wouldn't you say?"

"Remus!" McGonagall called sharply.

The werewolf took a deep breath. "I suppose that was out of line. I apologize, Severus."

Snape gave the Transfiguration professor a sidelong glance, and Remus knew, as surely as if the man had spoken it, that he knew Remus had apologized only because McGonagall was there. _I _am_ acting like a child._ The realisation shocked him.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice muttered, "Snape deserved that, and a lot more, Moony! Don't let Minnie intimidate you — your _Protego_ is stronger than hers. Tell him you were out of line because you didn't mean to insult bats!"

_Just what I need. Sirius arguing with Snape, using me as his mouthpiece. Take the high road, Lupin._

Remus sighed. "I'll help Jonathan with Potions as much as I can, but I don't want you there while I do."

Severus drew himself up to his full height. "It is my classroom, so I should —"

"If you're going to be there, then you'll do the teaching," Remus said. "There's no point in him settling for me if you're there. But my point is, he's rather afraid of you —"

"As he should be."

Remus rolled his eyes, not caring if Severus saw. "I think most of his problems in Potions are because of that fear."

"He would not need to fear me if he would just follow the directions that I give him."

"He might follow the directions better if you weren't constantly nitpicking at every little thing he does."

"He doesn't do things in the right order, or use the right ingredients — he can't even tell the difference between chopping and slicing!"

"Then you, as his professor, had an obligation to teach him how to do it right in the first place!" yelled Remus, finally losing his last shred of patience with the other man.

Silence descended, thick and heavy, upon them all, and everyone stared at Severus, waiting for his response.

"Are you insinuating that I —"

"I'm insinuating nothing. I'm saying outright that you've had the chance to show that boy how to do things the right way and you've chosen to walk away from him, time and time again, and give him nothing but insults."

Severus' eyes were blazing angrily. "I can do nothing about his appalling way of writing essays —"

"But could you not have taken two minutes to show him what you mean by slicing or chop—"

"Those procedures were all covered in the first year."

"And when he hadn't mastered them, you should have taken some bloody initiative and —"

"I am not responsible for his inability to learn even the simplest of Potion-making skills."

In one quick, fluid move, Remus slammed his hands down on the table and shot to his feet. "You are!" he barked. "Everyone here, every professor in this school, is responsible for seeing that their students learn and master the skills that they will need — and not just for the bloody O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s — but for their life!"

"Considering his abysmal grades and performance, should you not then be taking this issue up with every professor here — not just me?" Severus asked, his hands nestled in the sleeves of his robes.

"Jonathan told me that every professor here has offered extra help or pieces of advice, except for one. Care to guess which professor hasn't?" Remus asked harshly.

"And still with the 'extra help' and 'pieces of advice,' the boy is an absolute failure." Severus suddenly put his hands on the table across from Remus' and leaned closer to the werewolf. "You forget yourself, Lupin. We are the professors here, and we do what we can for the students. If there are some that are too thick-witted to understand simple instructions, or too stupid to accomplish basic wizarding principles, then they deserve to fail or have someone like you tutor them. It is not your place to criticize my teaching or my methods. The day you get a job here, you'll be able to tell me how to run my classes and what I should do with the students. Until then, keep your _snout_ and your bloody asinine opinions to yourself."

And with that, Severus turned and started for the door.

"Severus!"

The Potions Master disregarded the other man completely and continued on into the hallway.

Remus exhaled mightily, letting a curse mingle with the breath, and then rushed to the door.

"Snape," he called after the Slytherin.

This time, the man stopped, though he didn't turn.

"Since you're so concerned, I'll bring Jonathan down to your classroom for tutoring. We'll meet there every night until he leaves for the Christmas holidays. You won't need to be there."

The dark-haired man turned and snarled at Remus: "Don't worry. I won't be."

Inside the room, Flitwick and McGonagall stared at each other, not sure whether they should be horrified at what had happened or merely relieved that it was all over.

"Merlin help anyone who gets in _his_ way tonight," Flitwick said.

"I doubt Remus will be pleasant company either," McGonagall commented. She got up and went to where the younger man had been sitting and picked up the forgotten parchment plane. "Could you imagine if Remus were actually fortunate enough to teach here?"

Flitwick began to chuckle, and then burst into high-pitched, but hearty, laughter. "Scenes like this every night? We could sell tickets!"

"They'd both be dead by the end of the year," the Transfiguration professor said ruefully, staring at the parchment in her hands. Slowly she began to unfold it, her eyes scanning the words as they became visible.

"Do you think we should tell Albus about this?" Filius asked suddenly.

McGonagall said nothing.

"Minerva?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, I wouldn't bother him with it." She began to fold the parchment back into the shape that Remus had made of it. "What could he do, really? If he chastises either one or the other, it will only cause worse feelings between the two."

Flitwick noticed that, although she was talking to him, her attention was still focused on the parchment. "What is it, Minerva?"

The woman looked up at him, and there was sadness in her eyes. "Remus had applied to a small school in France." She held up the paper. "He didn't get the position."

Flitwick shook his head. "They'll never know what they're missing."

"And that's always the problem, isn't it?" McGonagall mused.

Flitwick suddenly chuckled. "Well, if Remus doesn't have a job to go to, he'll have to stay on here, right? We'll certainly enjoy that."

"It will probably give Severus an ulcer," McGonagall said, tucking the letter in a pocket to give to Remus at another time.

"Oh, at the very least," Flitwick agreed. His eyes twinkled as he slyly asked, "How long until they hex each other? And who throws the first curse?"

Minerva looked at him, and her eyes narrowed. "You don't think for a minute that I'd bet against a Gryffindor, do you? Five Galleons says Severus throws the first spell."

**Friday, 13 December—6:00 p.m.**

"Are you sure that Professor Snape won't come in here?" the boy asked for the second time.

"He won't," Remus verified. Then he tilted his head slightly to the side and said thoughtfully: "He's probably afraid I'm going to encourage you to blow this room to bits, so he's probably in a spot as far away as he possibly could be at this moment."

Jonathan grinned. "_Are_ we going to blow the room to bits?"

"Not tonight," Remus said with a rather wicked gleam in his eye. "But we do need to get to work." He had carried a box to the dungeons and now opened it, watching the curiosity grow on Jonathan's face. "Tonight, we are going to learn the things that you will need to do well in Potions. And if everything goes well, we may never need to have another Potions tutoring session."

"How do you figure that?" the Ravenclaw asked, clearly astounded.

"Because Professor Snape has declared that much of your problem is with basic preparation techniques. So…" Remus reached into the box to retrieve the first item for the lesson.

"It's a carrot," Jonathan said, blinking in surprise.

"And you are going to learn how to slice and how to sliver using this fine specimen of the vegetable family."

"You're serious."

Remus felt his eyes glaze over for the barest of seconds. _No, I'm not Sirius; I'm Remus. _"Yes," he managed to say. "I am serious. Very much so."

"But…" Jonathan stopped, not knowing what to say.

"Potions are amazing things, Jonathan: they can heal; they can kill. They can bring you luck or fame. They can create beauty with one swallow and then take it all away with the next. Never underestimate what a potion can do."

The Ravenclaw stared at him. "Wow. I'd never thought of all that."

"Of course not," Remus said with a snort. "No one does." He stopped, looked up toward the ceiling, and muttered, "Well, with the exception of Severus Snape, that is. But the point is, a potion can be made more effective, less effective, even fatal by the way its ingredients are handled. Can you tell me the difference between slicing and slivering?"

Before an hour was up, Jonathan had a decent working understanding of the basic preparation techniques, and he and Remus were munching on the sliced, slivered, diced, chopped, and cubed vegetables that littered their working area.

"You should go to the kitchens every night for a while and get some more vegetables to practice on," Remus advised. "You know how to do these things now, but you need to learn better control of the knife and how to keep the pieces of uniform size and shape."

Jonathan agreed and popped another piece of raw potato in his mouth.

"And now," said Remus, sitting down on the nearest stool and motioning for Jonathan to sit as well, "I'm going to give you the next lesson in doing well in Potions."

The boy waited silently. Or as silently as he could, considering he was chewing a potato.

Remus looked right into his eyes then said quietly and firmly, "Severus Snape can be a mean, vindictive bastard, and you have to learn to ignore his comments and remarks and focus on what you're doing."

Jonathan's mouth dropped open.

"I'm not that interested in seeing chewed food, Jonathan, so if you'd please… Now, I'm not telling you anything that you don't know, really, and before you think I'm telling you it's all right to be disrespectful, I'm not. Snape knows more about potions and potion making than I ever will. He deserves respect for that. Now, do I agree with how he teaches? No. Have we had our differences? Yes. There are things you don't know and you're better off not knowing. Keep in mind, however, that before long, I'll be leaving, and you'll still have two more years of classes with the man."

Jonathan's face had altered greatly during Remus' comments, going from stunned to positively gleeful, then from chagrin to resignation.

"So, my advice is to think about what he's saying when he insults you. If it's about the potion, believe that it's a legitimate complaint. If he tells you something along the lines of 'I've never seen that colour before,' you know you're close, you just added too much or too little of whatever made it that colour. If he says something personal, such as, 'Blotts, you're an imbecile,' then, for Merlin's sake, ignore him. He's trying to rattle you. He knows you fear him –"

"I don't —"

"Yes, you do," Remus said firmly, interrupting him. "Call it what it is and face it. That will give you more confidence when dealing with him."

Jonathan sat back and grabbed a piece of carrot and munched on it thoughtfully as Remus continued.

"If Snape tells you he's never seen anything like what you've done, then, you should consider yourself lucky that you've proven to him that there are still more ways that a potion can be ruined."

The boy laughed.

Remus smiled. "So, the point is: if he directly insults the potion, figure out if there's something that you can do to counteract it. If he insults you directly, then let it go, and concentrate on not missing the next step."

"How do I counteract what's gone wrong?" Jonathan asked. "I'm not that good at Potions to know what each ingredient does precisely."

"It comes with practice and experience," Remus told him. "And unfortunately, you've found my weak spot. I'm not that good at it. I can tell you what the things do, and sometimes, on a good day, how to counteract them. But when it comes to knowing amounts or how many times you stir it and such, well, I'm more or less useless. In other words, find yourself a good Potions partner."

Jonathan again laughed. "Should I take notes? 'Get a good Potions partner and ignore the Professor's nasty comments.'"

"Sounds like you've mastered the lesson, actually," Remus said smugly. "Well done."

**Thanks to all of you who review and those who have put this story on alert or into their favorites. I appreciate it greatly!  
Remember: a review goes a long way to soothing the nerves of a kindergarten teacher--especially after she has just found out that one of her students threatened to 'bite the eyes out' of another kindergartner... (You don't suppose he's part werewolf, do you?)**


	25. Chapter 24:Revelations

**A/N: Zarathustra, I truly appreciate you taking this story under your wing. Should I apologise for telling you it would only be fifteen chapters, and then eighteen, and then twenty (and an epilogue)? I didn't mean to lie! Really! SortingHat47, thank you for making me rewrite this chapter 482 times. It really is better this way. **

**Thanks over and over to those of you who review and those of you who put this story on alert. I truly appreciate it!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Darn it all, anyhow. **

**Chapter 24: Revelations**

**Tuesday, 17 December, 1985—10:55 a.m.**

Jonathan had been determined that nothing was going to disturb him, distress him, or otherwise interfere with a decent performance in Potions today. As a result, he had ignored at least two snide remarks from his professor, and had managed to 'rescue' his potion twice: once because he had almost forgotten to dice the antelope liver (he had cubed it) and the second time when he had added too much valerian. He countered the second mistake by adding a little more armadillo bile, thanks to the suggestion of the girl at the desk next to him.

Professor Snape walked by for what seemed like the twentieth time and sniffed with disdain as he peered over Jonathan's shoulder. He said nothing, however, and the young Ravenclaw relaxed marginally. The potion was the correct colour, the proper consistency, had the desired purple steam —Jonathan began to hope that he'd have a decent potion to present to the professor for grading.

When the class was over, after Jonathan had given a capped vial of his potion to the professor, he went back to clean up his station. He was surprised when Snape suddenly appeared at his side.

"Who helped you, Mr Blotts?" the man demanded softly.

Jonathan blinked with surprise. "No one, sir. Well, I had to ask Amanda Winterbourne about what to do when I added too much valerian, but…"

"It is impossible that you could have done this potion on your own," Severus stated. "Did you somehow switch cauldrons with someone?"

"No, sir! I did it on my own! You saw it! You were beside me several times during class!"

"You have, up until this point, been unable to follow the simplest of potions-brewing instructions. And yet, today, you have created an acceptable O.W.L.-worthy potion? I find that highly unlikely."

"But it's true," Jonathan insisted.

"Then explain to me this miraculous turn of events. How could you possibly have improved so much within a matter of a few days?"

The Ravenclaw raised his chin, knowing that the answer was not going to be well received, but determined to give it nonetheless. "Mr Lupin and I came down Friday evening and worked on some things."

Snape stared at him, as if waiting for him to say something else. "That's it, Mr Blotts? Your answer to this amazing turnaround is that you and Lupin worked on Friday evening?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you not work on Potions over the weekend? Or last night?"

"Mr Lupin and I worked on slicing, cubing, slivering — that sort of thing. I didn't realize I was so confused about those things."

"And that was the extent of his instruction?"

Jonathan bit his lip. "He offered me some advice, sir, and that — that was it."

"And what was the advice?"

Not quite brave or stupid enough to tell the Potions Master exactly what Lupin had said, Jonathan decided to paraphrase. Greatly. "He told me not to get distracted while working on a potion. He said I needed to pay attention to the steps and make sure I followed each step carefully. He also said that if I realised I had done something wrong, to ask someone good in Potions how to counter it."

Snape's eyes hadn't left his, but now something kindled in the black depths, something angry and frustrated. "That's impossible," he said flatly.

"I'm sorry you think so, sir," Jonathan said. "May I please finish clearing my things away? I'm going to be late for Runes."

The Potions professor's lip curled into a sneer. "Another class in which Lupin has helped you make almost miraculous improvements."

"I suppose it seems so," the boy said. "But he helped me figure out —"

"I am not interested in the — man's methodology. I am not even remotely interested in Ancient Runes. I am, however, amazed that a man who was barely capable of completing a fifth year potion himself is able to — inspire you to improve so much over such a short time."

Jonathan carefully considered his next comment. "I would think you should be happy that I've done well during this class, sir."

Snape regarded him coolly. "One would think so, wouldn't one?"

**6:33 p.m.**

"Shouldn't a professor be happy at his student's progress?" Jonathan asked.

Remus chose his wording carefully. "Yes, he should. But sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, and sadly enough, Jonathan, I happen to be the extenuating circumstance that will make Snape angry at your accomplishments."

He wanted to warn the boy to be careful. There was something — a feeling, a thought, _a suspicion_ — and it made the wolf within Remus restless and wary. He just wasn't certain what it was.

**Wednesday, 18 December—7:55 a.m.**

Remus took the wax-sealed envelope from Jonathan's hand and regarded it with curious eyes. "What is it?"

"You'll have to open it," the boy said, his enthusiasm barely contained.

Remus slid a long finger beneath the flap and tugged until the seal gave up its hold on the parchment. The smell of pine and cinnamon and ginger drifted out of the envelope.

"My mother pays extra for that," Jonathan informed his tutor, noticing the man's nose twitching at the scent.

Remus pulled an embossed card from the envelope and scanned it quickly. Then he looked at Jonathan. "Your family has a party for their employees?"

"It's always the day after Boxing Day," Jonathan said, reaching around to point to the date on the card. "They have canapés and drinks, and then they give gifts to their employees."

"But, Jonathan, I'm not –"

"I told my father I wanted to get you something for Christmas to thank you for helping me. He said that since you've all but performed miracles by helping me, you deserved more than he could probably afford." The boy smiled. "But he did tell me we could invite you to the staff's party, and you could choose any five books from the store as your gift."

"Any five books?" Remus repeated, dumfounded.

"I know you like to read, but I don't know what you like or what you have. You can pick them out the night of the party."

Remus stared at the invitation and then sighed. "I would love to come, Jonathan, but I already have a previous engagement for that night."

The boy looked disappointed. "You couldn't come for even a little while?"

The tutor shook his head regretfully. "I wish I could. I'm sure it's a wonderful time, but I have no choice."

Jonathan sighed.

"I am really sorry," Remus said softly. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the spelled scent, and then tucked the card back into the envelope. "Could I stop at another point during the holidays?" he asked.

The Ravenclaw's smile returned with even more intensity. "Yes! That would be great! My parents will be glad to finally meet you."

"I'll come by sometime after the new year begins," Remus promised. _And after the scars from my transformation on the twenty-seventh heal…_

**Thursday, 19 December-Tuesday, 31 December**

The Christmas holiday was a surprisingly pleasant one. Remus spent a lot of time with Kettleburn and Hagrid during the days, and the evenings in the Staff Room, playing chess or reading. It was a peaceful existence, one that he treasured if only because he didn't know when he'd have another Christmas like this one.

He had been surprised to see gifts at the foot of his bed when he had awakened on Christmas morning. He was grateful for that tradition, because he had found himself in tears at the sight of the brightly coloured paper and ribbon. There was no sign of the tears when he had appeared at breakfast that morning, dressed in the new set of robes that Dumbledore had given him, and the new boots from McGonagall.

He even managed to cajole, beg, and otherwise plead for a game of Gobstones between the professors on Christmas Day. He thought they had mainly agreed to it only because he had introduced a bit of firewhiskey to their wassail, but by the amount of laughter and teasing between them, he wondered if maybe they might have gone along with his idea despite the addition he had made.

Remus couldn't remember enjoying Christmas that much in years. Definitely not since the Potters and Peter had died, and certainly not since his father had died almost five years ago.

The delight and fellowship he had found at Hogwarts even pacified the wolf within. He emerged from the Shack on the morning of the twenty-eighth with fewer injuries than he'd had in a long time, and only one new soon-to-be-scar on his upper thigh. The other injuries faded quickly with Pomfrey's adept help.

Satisfied that there no obvious residual signs of his transformation or its aftermath, Remus sent a message to Jonathan, telling him he'd be in Diagon Alley on the thirty-first, and that he'd stop in the bookstore to see the boy.

The Ravenclaw had responded with enthusiasm, telling him that his mother had told him to come for dinner. Though Remus hadn't wanted to impose, he could tell by the tone of the letter that Jonathan would be devastated if he declined the offer.

So, at six o'clock sharp on the thirty-first, he found himself seated at the Blotts' family table with the Blotts family: father, mother, one older sister, and two younger brothers. Mr Blotts recognized him from his occasional foray into the bookstore and, despite his wife's admonitions, kept asking Remus his opinions about books and authors in whom they shared an interest.

After dinner, Jonathan took Remus into the store and helped his tutor choose his Christmas gift. Remus made certain to select books that he knew he'd read or use repeatedly. Appreciation from a student and his family could not be squandered on books that Remus was merely curious about. These books would be treasured.

Before Mr Blotts wrapped the books up, Remus opened one and pushed it toward Jonathan. "Sign it," he ordered.

The boy looked at him with uncertainty.

"It's customary for someone giving the gift of a book to write some kind of dedication," Remus explained with a smile.

"What do I say?" the boy asked.

"That's for you to decide."

While Jonathan debated what to write, Remus turned to Mr Blotts, ready to ask him another question. He stopped, seeing the man staring at him with an odd look on his face.

"You were the one —"

"The one?" Remus prompted, his smile fading.

Mr Blotts glanced at his son and noticed that Jonathan was busy writing. "This past summer — Aurors were in looking for you. They said you were missing."

Remus bit back the curse that threatened to escape. _What do I say?_ Fortunately a clever brain and an extensive vocabulary helped him figure that out. "I was merely misplaced for a bit." It took supreme effort to get his facial muscles to form a lopsided grin. "It was a bit of a misunderstanding. It's all cleared up now."

"I'm certainly glad to hear it," the other man said. "The Auror, Moody, I believe it was, seemed extremely concerned about your well-being."

Remus could only imagine the conversation that might have occurred, and the manner in which it was conducted. This time, his smile was genuine. "Alastor Moody is a good man. He watches out for me."

"It's good to have such friends," Mr Blotts said.

Remus cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Yes, it is," he replied quietly.

**Tuesday, 7 January, 1986—10:49 p.m.**

While Remus would always remember that Christmas holiday as one of the happiest he'd had in a long time, if there was one not-so-bright spot, it was Severus Snape. The man seemed to find Remus' presence as a personal affront. He made snide remarks and comments whenever he could, and Remus found himself drawn deeper and deeper into a battle of wits with a man who commanded sarcasm as skilfully as any fencer ever wielded a rapier. Many times, Remus was left speechless; once in a while, he was able to strike back quickly, coolly, sharply. At those times, he found himself guiltily amused at the anger that would flare in the other man's black eyes.

"You should tell the Headmaster about him," McGonagall suggested one night in the Staff Room, after Severus had all but accused Remus of dallying at Hogwarts in order to attack the students. "His words are becoming more vicious."

Remus shook his head. "No, I'm fine. They're just words. It's nothing that I haven't heard before." He grinned. "Actually, I find it rewarding when I can come up with something that even _he_ can't counter."

"But, Remus, this isn't some sort of _game_!"

"It's all right," the werewolf said, soothingly. "It's just Snape. He can't stand me, and I don't blame him. There's too much between us to be ignored. We may be older, but the anger and hatred has had more time to fester."

"It isn't right," the Transfiguration professor insisted.

"No, it isn't," Remus agreed. "But if snapping at me is the only way to make it bearable for him to see me here, then I'll take it. And more besides," he added firmly.

**Thursday, 16 January—10:59 a.m.**

Jonathan carefully placed the vial on Professor Snape's desk. Again, he had managed to concentrate on his potion brewing, ignoring the mutterings of the dark-haired professor, and had delivered a decent-looking brew. It wasn't quite the right colour exactly — it was more of a teal than an actual blue — but it was obviously better prepared than Foss Hardwicke's orange potion.

The Ravenclaw allowed himself a small smile of triumph and turned to go back to clean his area.

"Blotts."

Jonathan tried not to sigh with vexation. Was the Potions Master going to accuse him of cheating again? "Yes, sir?"

"I believe these belong to you." Professor Snape was holding the postcards from the carnival in his hand.

"Yes, sir."

"I do not want to see these in my classroom again, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Jonathan tucked the cards into a pocket and started to walk away, but again the Potions Master stopped him.

"Mr Blotts, I have forgotten one. Here."

Jonathan took the last card and glanced at it. It was the werewolf card. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me," the Potions professor said with an inscrutable smile. "Thank Lupin."

**7:18 p.m.**

"What did he mean by that?" Jonathan asked when he met his tutor that evening in an empty classroom on the first floor.

Remus shrugged. "It could mean anything or nothing. It's Severus Snape."

"No, it meant something. Did you talk to him about the postcards? Somehow convince him to give them back to me?"

"No. I don't know what cards you're talking about, so I couldn't have known that Snape had them." Remus chuckled. "Besides, I don't think I could convince that man to do anything. If I asked him to give you a 'T' on an essay, he'd probably give you an 'E' just to spite me."

"But –"

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "What does it matter, Jonathan?" he asked impatiently. "You got your bloody cards back."

"I did, but —"

"Merlin save me from Ravenclaws who need to know the hows, whys, and wherefores of everything that happens," Remus said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Tell me what you're going to write in that essay for Professor Flitwick."

Jonathan sighed and began to recite everything he remembered about Summoning Charms.

"You've got a good grasp of the concept," his tutor suddenly interrupted him. "Now write it."

"Don't you want me to tell you how I'm going to organize this?"

Remus shook his head. "You're beyond that. You can work it out on your own now."

Jonathan gave him an odd look. It wasn't quite confusion, but it wasn't worry… "Sir, are you leaving soon?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"You seem — sad."

Remus smiled again. "All good things must come to an end, Mr Blotts."

"So you are leaving."

"Not quite yet. But probably soon."

"Did you get another position somewhere?"

The man chuckled, but it was with bitterness. "No."

"Then why —"

"Jonathan, must you question _everything_?" But as soon as the question was out, Remus raised his hand to stop him from answering. "Yes, you must. I know." He sighed. "I've been here since September, out of the Headmaster's forbearance and pity. I'm feeling better than I have in months, and the one task he set for me to do —" he pointed to Jonathan, "— has nearly been accomplished. I really have no reason to stay much longer."

"But I still need help –"

Remus shook his head. "Not really. Yes, you're still a little behind your peers, but you're improving every day. I fully expect you to be able to hold your own from this point on."

"'From this point on'? You mean tonight's our last night?"

"No, it's not. You're not quite finished with me yet. Look, finish your essay and we'll discuss it later,"

Remus ordered, as he grabbed Jonathan's Potions text. He had forgotten to bring a book to read while the boy worked, which was just as well. He could look through what Snape was going to be teaching next and point out things that Jonathan would need to watch for.

The book fell open, revealing several postcards.

"Are these the cards —?" Remus didn't finish the question. Marquee lights had just appeared, surrounding the words "Bentley & Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures."

"Yes. Have a look at them," Jonathan said, apparently not noticing that Remus had caught his breath in shock, and wasn't quite sure how to begin breathing again. "They're bloody fantastic."

Slowly, almost expecting his fingers to burn, the werewolf turned the first postcard over.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he saw. Nothing.

An all-too-familiar centaur stood squarely in the middle of the card, staring out with an almost mulish expression. His arms were crossed defiantly across his chest.

_Oh, gods. It can't… _

Remus' hand unconsciously went to his own chest, as if to pull the knife out of his heart, because the pain he was feeling was so sharply physical. He sucked in a ragged breath, casting a quick glance at Jonathan, but the boy hadn't seemed to notice his distress.

_I don't want to see… _But he looked anyhow.

Libertas stomped a back hoof impatiently, making Remus remember the many times he had seen the centaur do that.

_I'm the only one that would remember that… _That brought more pressure into his chest, but it wasn't quite as pointed as before.

He wasn't sure he wanted to see the rest of the cards now. But then the thought hit him that he had seen the worst of what he could see. Determinedly, he laid the postcard of Libertas aside and picked up the next one.

It didn't seem like the nerveless fingers, which held the cards, were still attached to his hands. It had to be someone else who slowly, methodically took each card, glanced at the marquee lights, and then turned it over to reveal animals and creatures that he had known, had touched, had cared for. It had to be someone else; because surely Remus couldn't be seeing the logo and those animals, and not feeling or saying anything.

How could he sit there so calmly? How could he not scream with anger or frustration, knowing what he knew about the carnival and the men who owned it? How could he do this to himself, forcing himself to look at each picture, to remember… There was the Clabbert; Remus could almost feel the soft, green fur and hear its pleased squeal. The jarvey had amused him with its mad, muttered imprecations. The hippogriff bowed its head solemnly and he found himself thinking of how it had liked to be scratched under its jaw…

Only one card remained. His hand shook as he flipped it over.

"Oh gods," he groaned softly. The pain in his chest returned with a vengeance.

The werewolf in the photograph threw himself at the bars. Thick spittle dangled in long strings from his teeth, and Remus could imagine the hot breath and the snarls of the furious animal.

"Mr Lupin? Are you all right?" the boy asked.

_What do I say to that? How can I possibly answer that question? _

Jonathan bit his lip and then asked quietly, "Do you need to get some fresh air, sir? Or do you need me to go and get someone? You don't look well."

_I don't suppose I do right now. _The cards slipped out of his hands and onto the table. "Give me a minute," he managed to say hoarsely, cupping a hand over his eyes.

_Snape had these. He saw these. Does he realise it's me? Yes. He would never have said that to Jonathan otherwise. Bugger._

"Mr Lupin?"

Rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, he looked up at the young Ravenclaw, who was staring at the werewolf snapping at the bars.

"The werewolf—on the card—" The boy hesitated for just a moment then nervously rushed through the rest of it, glancing up, but not quite looking Remus in the eye, "—it's you, isn't it?"

_Shit! _Remus' hand froze. Sirius' voice whispered in his ear: "Admit nothing, Moony!"

Was there any point in trying to lie? The boy wasn't stupid. Sometimes it was just better to admit the truth and damn the consequences. Especially when coming face to face with the picture of himself — something he hadn't known existed — had twisted his psyche into knots. "How did you know?" Remus asked hoarsely.

"That you're a werewolf? Or that it's you on that card?"

Remus sighed. "I can work out how you might figure out that I'm a werewolf — starting with our talk on the top of the Astronomy Tower. But, the other —" he tilted his head to the side, inviting the boy to pick up the conversation.

Jonathan suddenly squirmed in his chair. "When we were talking, you looked familiar to me. But it wasn't until a couple days later that I remembered seeing you. Or what I thought was you. At the carnival. Your hair was longer and you had a beard, though.

"And then when you came for dinner, I heard my dad say that the Aurors had been looking for you, that you had been missing. I asked him when that was, and he said that the one Auror had been in two or three times over the summer. I was at the carnival during the second week of August. So I put it all together —" He shrugged, ending his explanation.

"Have you told anyone else?" Concern made the necessary question sound even harsher than Remus had intended.

"No!" Jonathan looked horrified that he had even suggested it.

"Not your parents or your friends?"

"My mother would have a right fit, if she knew," the Ravenclaw said. "She liked you well enough; but, you know..."

_Yes, I know all too well…_

In a little softer voice, but quite firmly, the boy said, "I haven't told anyone, and I'm not going to."

Remus rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, keeping his eyes on the young wizard. Could he trust the boy? He really had no choice, did he? "Jonathan, this is just a little bigger than keeping the secret of who your best friend fancies."

"I know. I know it's important." The Ravenclaw bit his lip. "You'd have to leave, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." It was a simple answer. Too simple for the actual truth: that Dumbledore would be in for an inordinate amount of trouble for his presence; that Jonathan might suffer the jeers and taunts of the other students; that the boy might actually be avoided because of the fear of being tainted by Remus' condition…

Before Remus could formulate any other dire consequences, Jonathan said, "I guess Professor Snape knows your secret, since he made such a big deal about handing back the cards — especially the one with y— the werewolf on it."

"Yes, he knows," Remus said with a frown. "I'm sure he'll make a point of asking me if you showed them to me."

"And I'd guess the Headmaster knows…"

"Everyone on the staff knows," Remus told him. "It would be a good thing for the professors to know if there's a Dark creature in the building, don't you think?"

Jonathan's eyes lit up with curiosity. "How long have you been a werewolf?"

"Since I was a small child," Remus replied, resigned to the fact that the boy's love of magical creatures would lead to an incredible number of questions.

"But," the boy hesitated, "you said that you came here to Hogwarts."

"I did."

"So, you were a werewolf while you were here?"

"I am, as far as I know, the only werewolf to ever attend Hogwarts," Remus said.

Jonathan's eyes widened. "That's amazing."

"I was extremely fortunate."

"What did your friends think?"

"They thought it was brilliant, in point of fact. They were more supportive than I ever expected."

"Are they still?"

Remus took a deep breath_._ "My friends are dead. In the war against Voldemort."

The boy was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Remus' eyes fell again on the postcard with his picture and he shuddered. "Jonathan, could you please put that — those — elsewhere?"

The Ravenclaw looked surprised, but grabbed the stack of cards and put them deep in his Arithmancy book. He gave Remus a concerned look. "Are you all right? You still look —" he stopped, not knowing how to proceed.

"It's been a bit of a shock," Remus admitted. "I've never seen those before."

"You haven't?"

"Never knew they existed, actually," Remus said, the left side of his mouth twitching in a futile attempt to smile.

"But, they were selling them at the carnival!"

The heat of anger flared through Remus' body. "I may have been there, Jonathan, but I was not in any way, shape, or form an equal partner. I was not asked if they could photograph me, and I certainly was not asked if they could sell the damned things."

"You weren't?"

Remus ground his back teeth together. "No. I was taken and kept there against my will. I was nothing but a way for the owners to make money."

There was a long moment while the boy processed that information. Finally he scowled. "But…"

The werewolf took a deep breath. "But _what_, Jonathan?"

"Why didn't you say something to the people coming through?"

"I had been warned not to, first of all. Second of all, if a werewolf in a silver cage asks you to help him escape, are you going to do it?"

Jonathan's mouth opened and then closed. He looked very upset.

"It's all right, Jonathan. No one else would either. It's the way things are."

The boy seemed far from comforted, but Remus sighed explosively and continued. "You told me on the top of the Astronomy Tower that your cousin was saying things to the werewolf — to me — that would have made you hex him had he said them to you. Did you once tell him to stop when he was saying them at the carnival?"

"No," the boy admitted quietly, his cheeks slightly pink with embarrassment.

"And why not?" Remus persisted. "Because you didn't know werewolves thought or felt like 'normal' people. Wasn't that what you said?"

"Yes, sir. But if I had known —"

"If you had known what?"

"If I had known it was you —"

"But, Jonathan, it was me. You just didn't _know_ me then. It makes no difference."

The boy struggled for a way to rephrase what he was thinking. "Then, if I had known that, you know, werewolves have, er —"

"That werewolves have feelings?"

"Yes, sir."

"It still might have made no difference," Remus said. He smiled bitterly. "Humans have a sort of pack mentality, you know. If your cousin were to insist on saying rude things — to anyone — it's almost a matter of fact that you would not have stopped him. Even if you had known that my feelings were hurt."

Jonathan's voice was very soft, and sounded very young: "Were your feelings hurt much?"

"By your cousin's words?" Without waiting for an answer, Remus shook his head. "I don't remember which one your cousin was, Jonathan, much less what he said. Nearly everyone who came through said the same sort of thing, and I can't blame them. Fear makes people do and say terrible things. I learned to ignore the things that were the most hurtful, the most hateful."

"You learned — But how?" Jonathan asked. "How could you just ignore it when people are insulting you like that?"

"If you don't ignore the terrible things that people say, you begin to believe them," Remus said quietly. "I didn't want to believe that I deserved to have a silver bullet put into my head. I didn't want to believe that I was nothing but a monster. I didn't want to believe that my life was worthless. So I ignored the comments the best that I could."

"Like you told me to do in Potions," Jonathan breathed.

Remus chuckled. "More or less, though I doubt even Snape has gone so far as to recommend you be put down."

"It must have been terribly difficult for you."

"I hope you never find out," Remus said. He stood suddenly and pushed his chair in. "If you don't mind, Jonathan, I think I'd rather give this up tonight. Confession may be good for the soul, but it does also have the tendency to be a bit draining."

The boy suddenly opened his Arithmancy book and grabbed the werewolf card and held it out toward Remus. "Would you like this, sir? You can do whatever you'd like with it. I'm not quite sure I feel right in keeping it."

The werewolf looked at the card, and then shook his head. "No, Jonathan. You keep it. Maybe someday you can tell someone that you knew that werewolf and, because of him, you found out that werewolves are sometimes — human."

He started to turn, but halted and looked back at the Ravenclaw. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, there is one of those cards that I would really like to have. I will pay you for it…"

"No, that's all right," Jonathan said quickly. "Which one?"

"Libertas," Remus replied. "The centaur."

As the boy shuffled through the cards to find the right one, he asked, "The centaur was right across from you, right? Were you two friends?"

Remus considered his answer carefully. "He might not have said as much, but yes, I believe we were."

"Is he still with the carnival?"

The card was now being extended toward Remus, and he took it with steady fingers. "No," he replied. "I helped him find freedom."

**11:02 p.m.**

One by one, the professors in the Staff Room said their goodnights and headed for their rooms until only two men were left. Minerva McGonagall had been the last one to leave. She had sensed the tension and the animosity emanating from both young men and was loath to leave them alone.

Severus ignored her hesitation.

Remus, however, looked up at her with a smile. At first she thought it was the candlelight that was making the blue eyes glitter, but then she realized abruptly that it was something else entirely. "Good night, Professor," he said softly.

She cast a quick glance at Snape, then back at Remus. He smiled again, and this time, it was nearly predatory. She felt a shiver go up her spine. Whatever it was between the two young men, the Gryffindor was determined to see it through.

She nodded and pulled the door shut tightly, wondering if she should ward off the room or the entire wing from whatever was going to happen.

Remus sat back and crossed his arms over his chest once McGonagall was gone. "Something happened tonight when I was tutoring Jonathan," he said, amazed at how casual he sounded.

"Was his tutoring session — educational?" Severus asked, almost offhandedly. He kept his eyes on the book he had been reading.

"It was interesting, to say the least."

Severus' lips twitched with disdain. "Considering it was Blotts, I find myself astounded."

"It seems that someone was careless enough to reveal my lycanthropy to him," Remus said, keeping his eyes fastened on the other wizard.

"How appalling," the Potions Master drawled, flipping a page in his book.

"Even more shocking was that he had a postcard with a picture of me in my wolf form on it. But you'd know all about that postcard, wouldn't you — Severus?" The blue-eyed wizard hissed the name, and for the first time since their conversation had started, Snape looked up at him.

"I know I had taken those cards from him because he was paying more attention to them than to his work in class," Severus said. "What he knows about the card with the werewolf on it — or the werewolf's identity — is of no consequence to me."

Remus laughed. "Then you won't be disappointed to know that he had already figured out that the werewolf at the carnival — the one on the bloody card — was me long before he got the cards back?"

The dark-haired man smiled tightly. "Disappointed? Why should I care?"

"I'm relieved to hear it." Remus stood and began to gather up his newspaper and pieces of parchment together, as if preparing to leave. "I thought you'd be upset that I had made such a mistake by telling him of my lycanthropy back in October."

He made certain that he was looking right at Snape when he said the name of the month. He saw the man stiffen.

"I didn't come right out and tell him, of course," Remus said with a shrug. "But we were talking about werewolves, and, well, he is a Ravenclaw…"

"His third year Defence Against the Dark Arts professor should feel honoured that Blotts remembered how to identify a werewolf in human form," Snape finally spat.

"And his Potions professor should have realised that a boy interested in magical creatures wouldn't be repulsed or disgusted by having a werewolf as a tutor," Remus snapped. "You realise that if Jonathan had reacted in some horrible way, the Headmaster would have caught as much hell as I would have — if not even more."

"The Headmaster has survived more dire threats to his position and his reputation over more significant issues and _things_."

"That's true," Remus acknowledged. "But it would still have been very uncomfortable for everyone until the anger and the worry and the threats surrounding my presence had been dealt with."

Severus stood, moving smoothly and with only the slightest swish of robes. "Actually, Lupin, as far as I can tell, _you_ are the only threat to the Headmaster and this school, and I would find it highly satisfying to see _you_ dealt with."

And before Remus could frame a suitable reply, the Potions Master strode out of the room.

**I reworked this chapter at least 400 times. I'd really appreciate a review to tell me if it this version was worth the agony, sweat, and tears I put into it! (Fortunately, no blood was involved in the making of this chapter...)**


	26. Chapter 25:Mysteries

A/N: First off, I wanna thank Zarathustra fer her betain' work. She's a good 'un! Thanks to Sortin'Hat47, who's a damn fine frien' an' all...  
Nex', you gotta know there's a lotta Hagrid-speak in this chappie, an' I know I didn' do it all perfect-like. All those dropped letters an' all 'bout drove me mad.

(And then there's bloody centaurs in this chapter--Good golly! Hagrid's accent and centaur-speak all in one chapter. My head should have exploded!)

Disclaimer: I want them. I use them. But they aren't mine, and I don't get a cent from them. I can only do this through JKR's forgiving and charitable nature. (Even if she wasn't all that forgiving in DH...)

**Chapter 25: Mysteries**

**Monday, 20 January—6:02 p.m.**

Remus looked at the two boys that stood slightly behind Jonathan.

"You want me to do what?"

"Could you explain the Codex of Naustina to all three of us?" Jonathan repeated. "It's really rather complicated, and I told Rob and Leander that you'd be able to explain it better than the professor did."

Remus sighed. "I suppose if I'm going to have to explain it to one, I might as well explain it to three. Have a seat."

**Thursday, 23 January—5:45 p.m.**

"Mr Lupin, I hope you don't mind, but Yvonne was having some trouble in Charms today, and I told her you might be able to help her out."

Remus tilted his head slightly to the side and gave Jonathan a quizzical look. There was something going on here, he just couldn't put his finger on it. Yet. "The Ravenclaws are having some trouble this week?" he intentionally phrased it as a question.

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, you know how it is. Everyone has something they have to work on."

Behind him, Yvonne chewed at a fingernail nervously.

"Fine," Remus said with a suppressed sigh. "Here, Yvonne, have a seat here, and tell me what the problem is."

**Friday, 24 January—1:15 p.m.**

Professor Kettleburn stopped next to Remus and dropped a hand heavily on the younger man's shoulder. "Hey, laddie, I was wondering if I could make use of you this evening."

Remus smiled. "Of course. What do you need done?"

"About ten years ago, some people from Hogsmeade said there was a large, black dog hanging around the crossroads right out of town. They thought it was either a grim or a barghest."

Remus felt an icy finger of fear trace his spine and freeze the smile on his face. The last time he'd heard this rumour, he'd been part of establishing it.

"I went looking for it, and never did find it," the professor of Magical Creatures continued.

_Yes, you did. You found the 'grim' and gave him detention for being off the school grounds. You didn't catch the stag, though…_

"Someone down at Rosmerta's said they saw it again the other night. I'd have said it was too many butterbeers, but the man doesn't drink anything stronger than pumpkin juice." Kettleburn chuckled. "So, I told him we'd go looking for it. Thought it'd be a bit of a change for you."

"It will be interesting," Remus agreed.

"Good lad. Meet me down at Hagrid's cabin around seven, then, all right?"

**7:56 p.m.**

Remus held the lantern out in front of him, and grabbed the top of his coat to hold it closed against the brisk winter breeze. The top button had been lost ages ago, and now Remus was silently sending himself to several different levels of hell because he had never replaced it.

It was too damned cold to be out here chasing phantoms.

"Reckon we'll find anythin'?" Hagrid asked.

The werewolf shrugged. "It seems unlikely to me, but Professor Kettleburn seems to think it worth looking into."

"Be a treat ter actually see the barghest. I seen it years ago and then it just up an' disappeared."

"Oh, really?" _As many times as Padfoot ran past your hut, I'm not surprised you saw it._

"Thought maybe I were drinkin' a bit more'n I shoulda bin, if yeh know what I mean."

"Have you ever seen nogtails around here?" Remus asked, hoping to distract the half-giant from his interest in big, black, semi-mythical dogs.

"Ach, not too many. They like the farmland too much ter come 'round here. There was a troll, though —"

The story of the troll and how Kettleburn and Hagrid had lured it away from the school finished just as Remus and Hagrid reached the crossroads where the demonic black dog had supposedly been seen. Remus dowsed the light, and they stood uncertainly for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. They had expected to find Kettleburn there, waiting for them. He had left before Remus had arrived at Hagrid's hut, intending on talking to the man who had seen the black dog in order to get a better idea of what they were looking for — and where to find it.

"Are we gonna jus' wait here fer it — or the Perfesser?"

"Don't know what else to do," Remus said with a shrug. He glanced around and made for the stone wall that lined the road. He placed the lantern on the top of it, and then hoisted himself up to sit next to it. "Come on, Hagrid. Have a sit-down."

Hagrid eyed the wall with something like suspicion. "Don' know if tha' wall's strong enough fer the likes o' me."

Suddenly, a howl shattered the air. Something primal within Remus stirred and his fingers clutched uselessly at the stone.

"Came from over there," Hagrid said, pointing.

"I know," the werewolf said tersely. He grabbed the darkened lantern and started off at a trot in the direction of the noise. "Come on."

The nearly full moon was peering between clouds promising even more snow than the dusting that was already on the ground, but still offered enough light for the half-giant and the werewolf to see where they were going.

"Perfesser Kettleburn's gonna have a bloomin' fit tha' we're chasin' this thing without 'im," Hagrid muttered.

"He won't mind as long as we get some answers," Remus replied.

A low howl came from the woods right in front of them.

Both Hagrid and Remus automatically started in that direction without speaking, but when they reached the tree line, Hagrid halted and glanced behind him. "Think we oughta send up a signal or somethin' ter let him know where we are?"

It wasn't a bad idea, Remus thought. Kettleburn would need to know where they had entered the forest. "_Flagrate_," he murmured. He sketched an arrow on a tree trunk with the tip of his wand, and it glowed red in the darkness, pointing to the path they were going to take.

Hagrid nodded with approval, and they stepped into the shadows of the leafless trees.

"There i'n't a trail," Hagrid whispered loudly. "No pawprints or nothin'."

Remus had already noticed that, and was significantly bothered by it. Everything left some kind of trace. Everything except ghosts, that is. So what in the world were they chasing? He stopped and closed his eyes, concentrating on the noises around them, trying to decide where they should go now. Only two nights away from the full moon, his hearing was as sharp as it ever got as a human. Almost instantly he heard a rustling off to his right.

"This way," he said curtly, turning toward the noise and moving without waiting to see if Hagrid was behind him.

He would have liked to have used the lantern to light the way: it would have made it so much easier to see the briars that pulled at his coat, or the sticks that tugged at his feet, making him stumble. The moon was only so much help between the gleaming birches and the sprawling oaks. But any light, even a _Lumos_ would prevent his eyes from being acclimated to the dark and seeing whatever animal was in the woods with them — and what it intended for them.

"Yeh migh' think abou' doin' one of them arrows," Hagrid suggested suddenly.

Remus cast the spell as he continued walking. Now that they had ventured closer to a cluster of junipers, he could smell something unexpected… Something — familiar.

"Watch yerself," Hagrid suddenly muttered, reaching out and grabbing Remus by the shoulder to stop him, realising what was there at nearly the same moment as the younger man.

A female centaur stepped out from behind the cluster of bushes. She stared at them disdainfully and then stated in a low, quiet voice, "You should not be here."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Laureola, but we're lookin' fer somethin' else tha' shouldn' be here."

She snorted and stomped a front hoof impatiently. "Who are you, Rubeus Hagrid, to say what manner of creatures belong in the forest and which do not?" Her eyes drifted scathingly over Remus, from head to toe. "You would allow one dog into the forest but not another?"

Remus' lips twitched, and then he let the smile emerge. "I'm not a dog. I'm a wolf."

Her tail lashed her side, and she stared at him. He wasn't certain, but it seemed like she was staring at him quizzically. "Your vision is surprisingly clear."

"I heard it enough a few months ago to believe it," he replied. "Especially since one of your own also referred to me as such."

She took a step closer to him. "What was the name of him who revealed to you your true nature?"

"Libertas."

The clouds had parted, and somehow enough moonlight peeked through the bare branches to illuminate her disappointed expression.

"That was not the name you wanted to hear?" Remus asked quietly.

"What does it matter to you, wolf?" she demanded, taking another step toward him. She was frowning angrily now, however.

"Remus!" Hagrid hissed in warning.

The younger man ignored him. "I did not intend to hurt you by reminding you of someone lost to you," he said to the centaur.

"Humans—or wolves—do not concern themselves with our ways," Laureola scoffed. "And they care even less for what we think or feel. Again I ask why it matters to you?"

"It matters because of Libertas," Remus whispered, not sure if he was feeling bewilderment or a moment of true clarity.

"Why would this Libertas concern himself with one such as yourself?" she demanded suddenly.

"We were both trapped in a situation not of our own making," Remus replied. "He would no doubt say we were merely existing together. We became —" he fumbled for the right word, an acceptable word, "— acquaintances."

"And yet you are here now and he is not," the centaur pointed out. "You abandoned him."

Remus took a deep breath. "No. I did not," he said firmly.

The centaur looked up at the sky, scanning it slowly from east to west. "His star has fallen, then?"

"Yes."

She looked at him sharply. "Wolves cannot feel regret."

Remus was stung by her words and the fact that he had obviously infused his simple answer with such feeling. "_Horses_ should not be so judgmental," he snapped.

He heard Hagrid groan.

Laureola pranced sideways, and then advanced toward him. He held his ground, however.

"You would dare call me a horse?" she asked threateningly.

"You continue to insult me by referring to me as a wolf. I am more than that."

She continued glaring at him, and he knew she hadn't yet made up her mind what she was going to do to him or with him.

"The moon is more than a big, glowing ball of rock," Remus said steadily. "And the stars are more than little twinkling lights in the night sky. If those things can be more, why can't one such as myself be more than a wolf?"

Her eyes widened slightly, and she struck the earth with a forefoot. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, turning her earlier question back on her.

"I would know who this — acquaintance of Libertas is."

Remus smiled lopsidedly. "My name is Remus Lupin."

"Lupin?" she repeated. "You are named truly."

"I was named ironically," he muttered.

Was that a smile that flitted across her lips? Surely not.

There was a thundering behind them, and he and Hagrid spun around to see a male centaur bearing down on them, spear in hand.

Remus didn't move. He was frozen in place, the thought occurring to him that he had made it out of hell alive, only to be spitted by a centaur's spear. An altogether fitting end, he supposed.

"Stop, Dar!" Laureola yelled, throwing a hand up in a warning gesture.

The other centaur kept coming. But at the last second, he pulled his spear up and brought himself to an abrupt, brutal halt, sending pieces of the forest floor flying at Hagrid and Remus.

"You are not to be here," the male centaur said to them harshly. Without waiting for an answer, he looked over at Laureola. "And you are not to be here, either."

"But, Dar —"

"I am not Dar," the centaur said in an exasperated tone that implied they'd had this conversation before. "I am Tiber."

Remus looked back at the female, who looked confused.

"Where's Dar?" Hagrid asked suddenly.

Tiber froze. "It is no concern of –"

"Dar is gone," Laureola interrupted. "I am looking for him."

"You will not find him here," Tiber said, ignoring Hagrid and Remus.

It was if a veil of grief spread itself over Laureola, for suddenly her features slackened, her shoulders slumped, and her tail drooped.

"You must go back now, Laureola," Tiber told her gently.

She started to turn away from them, but then stopped and looked at Remus. "Libertas—does his dam know his star has fallen?"

Remus felt like the wind had just been kicked out of his chest. "I don't know," he whispered.

"If you honour his memory, you should tell her," Laureola said. "She may still be looking for him as I look for my Dar."

They watched her slip through the trees until the sounds of her passing disappeared.

**10:05 p.m.**

Just as Remus and Hagrid were emerging from the forest, Fergus Kettleburn was preparing to enter at the place where Remus had left the arrow. Since the wind's frosty teeth had sharpened, the professor suggested they go to the Three Broomsticks for a drink to warm themselves up before heading back to the castle. It would be the perfect place to discuss what had happened—why Remus and Hagrid hadn't been there at the crossroads as he had expected.

Remus told an abbreviated story. He didn't think it was necessary for Kettleburn to know exactly what Laureola had said to him, or vice versa. So, he simply told the story that he and Hagrid had met two centaurs in the woods, and talked to them. If Hagrid was surprised at the Remus' decision to omit the barbs and comments traded by werewolf and centaur, he didn't show it. Remus did tell Kettleburn everything that they had learned from Tiber after Laureola had left them.

"So, it was a barghest, then?" Kettleburn repeated, somewhat eagerly.

"Tiber said it was," Hagrid said. He paused to pick up the large pewter tankard to take a drink, and then added, "Got summat outta sorts when I asked 'im if he were sure."

Remus smiled into his warmed butterbeer, thinking about the centaur's indignation that the half-giant had dared question him.

"Did they destroy it?" Kettleburn asked.

"He said they 'took care of it,'" Remus replied. He tilted his head slightly to the side, "Of course, that could mean almost anything in centaur-speak."

The Magical Creatures professor nodded slightly. "I don't think they'd be wanting a demon-dog hanging around the forest anymore than we do, so I'll assume they destroyed it. I might try to find one of the friendlier centaurs and ask him what was done, just to be sure."

Someone from across the room hailed Kettleburn and he excused himself to go talk to the man, leaving Hagrid and Remus alone.

The gamekeeper cleared his throat loudly, then looking around to make sure no one could hear him, said, "I hope yeh don' mind tha' I let you tell it. I figured there're some things yeh'd rather keep ter yerself."

Remus tapped his mug against Hagrid's. "You're a good man, Hagrid."

They drank, but as Remus lowered his mug, he gazed thoughtfully into the depths of the golden liquid. "Hagrid, do you know Dar?"

The older man sighed loudly. "I do. Hot-headed chap. Wasn' happy here. Said more'n once tha' he was goin' ter leave."

"Do you think that's what happened to him, then? That he just left?"

"It could be, I guess," Hagrid said. "I'd've said he'd've told Laureola he was leavin' though. Centaurs are a clannish bunch, an' he an' his dam were close."

"So —" Remus hesitated. "Could he be dead?"

"I dunno." The gamekeeper rubbed the beads of condensation on the sides of the tankard with his thumb.

"He could be, I guess."

Remus rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "Do you know of a herd of centaurs in the Mersey Forest?"

"I don' think there're many of 'em left," Hagrid said after a moment's thought. "Weren' tha' many of 'em ter begin with." He hesitated, then asked, "Is tha' where yer Libertas was from?"

"_My_ Libertas?" Remus lowered his hand and shook his head. "He was not mine. He was his own. Or," he again stared into the depths of his butterbeer, "he should have been."

"Yeh knew 'im at the carnival, then?" The half-giant's question was surprisingly gentle, as if he wasn't sure he should ask it in the first place.

Remus nodded. "He was trapped there, just as I was." He raised his eyes to meet Hagrid's. "They probably have no idea where he's been for the past five years."

He took a deep breath. "They wouldn't know he's d—" He shuddered rather than say that final word.

Hagrid's eyes were full of sympathy, but he wisely said nothing.

"Laureola —" And again, Remus fell silent.

How could he tell Hagrid about the heaviness in his heart? Laureola had lost a son, and somewhere in the Mersey Forest, there was, presumably, another centaur mare who was suffering just as badly for the want of news of her missing son.

Was Libertas' mother roaming the snow-dusted forest trails, looking for humans or others who might be able to tell her where her son had gone? Did she scan the heavens every night, looking for a sign, a star, a vision that might give her peace?

Remus sucked down the last of his butterbeer. "I'm going back to the castle," he announced to Hagrid. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, not even pausing to button it before going out the door and into the bitterness of the winter night.

**Saturday, 25 January, 1986—2:02 a.m.**

"Wolf."

His reply was automatic. "Horse."

"You are doing well."

He could see the centaur's form beside him, though Libertas was little more than a darker shadow in the surrounding darkness. "Yes, I am."

"You sound surprised."

Remus smiled, feeling the left side of his lips rise slightly higher than the right. "That's because I am."

The centaur cocked his head in Remus' direction and flicked his tail along his hindquarters. "You are safe now."

The werewolf nodded. "Yes."

But before he could add any more, Libertas said, "There is no peace in safety."

Remus blinked. "What? What is that supposed to mean?"

The centaur sounded like he was smiling when he replied, "You will know what it means when you are ready to know what it means."

**Monday, 3 February—4:15 p.m.**

"Remus!"

The werewolf spun neatly on his right foot to face Professor Flitwick.

"Fergus can't make it tonight for a chess match we had planned. Would you care to join me?"

Remus smiled. "I'd love to. What time?"

"You finish tutoring Jonathan at, what? Eight?" At the younger man's nod, Flitwick went on, "I'll expect you directly after that, then."

Remus agreed and started to turn away from the smaller wizard, intending on continuing on his way when Flitwick's voice stopped him. "Incidentally, Remus, I don't think you need to give him any more help with Charms. I think he can manage on his own now."

Remus blinked. "Oh. Well. Yes. I suppose he can."

"You've done a remarkable job with him." The older wizard patted him on the arm. "Thank you for agreeing to tutor him."

"It's been my pleasure," Remus said, wondering at the sudden constricting sensation in his chest.

**6:30 p.m.**

"You can do your Charms assignment later," Remus told the boy.

Jonathan gave him a confused look. "Why? Why can't I do it now?"

"Professor Flitwick thinks you're fine on your own now. At least with Charms," Remus clarified, seeing Jonathan's quick, panicked glance at his Runes book. "We can concentrate on the other things: the things you really need help with."

It wasn't until later, as he watched Jonathan finish a Potions essay that he realised why Flitwick's words had affected him so. The boy didn't need help with Charms — or Potions. Not really.

How much longer did Remus have until Jonathan didn't need him at all?

**Saturday, 8 February—3:10 a.m.**

"Wolf."

"Horse."

Tonight they were at the edge of a forest—one very much like where Remus had met Laureola.

"You are angry."

"No, I'm not angry," Remus contradicted. "I'm — Hell, I don't know what I am."

"Distressed," Libertas said.

"I'm not —" But Remus halted and considered the centaur's word. "Yes, I suppose I am." He turned to face the centaur. "Did your dam and your sire know where you were? While you were at the carnival?"

The centaur grunted. "Comets streak across the sky, unable to be guided or tethered, and not even the gods can catch them or their tails. Unfortunately, when the comet finally comes to earth, there are few who can tell where it landed."

Remus took a moment to work out the centaur's meaning. "You ran away?"

"I told them I was leaving."

"But not where you were going."

"I had no particular destination in mind. I thought merely wanting to be away would be enough. I was a headstrong foal and not wise enough to listen to their counsel."

Before Remus could ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, Libertas backed away and gestured to the forest. "It is peaceful, is it not?"

The werewolf looked at the tall trees garlanded with snow, noticing how the bare branches stood out, black against the velvety midnight blue sky. "It is," he agreed.

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, and Remus fought down the urge to howl along with it.

"It is not safe here," Libertas said.

"No," Remus agreed.

"There is no peace in safety," the centaur said.

"You said that before," Remus pointed out. "What does that mean?"

"You are not ready to know," Libertas said, turning and disappearing into a clump of juniper bushes.

**Tuesday, 11 February—5:43 p.m.**

Jonathan looked up from his Runes translations to look toward the door for what Remus was sure to be the fiftieth time in the past half hour.

"Jonathan, what in the world are you looking for?"

The boy gave him a shame-faced grin. "I was looking for a friend of mine. She said she might come by."

"This is not a time for socializing —"

"Oh, I know," the Ravenclaw rushed to reassure him. "She was having some trouble with Potions, though, and I told her —"

"Does Professor Flitwick know that I have apparently become the official tutor for Ravenclaw?" Remus asked, with mock dismay.

"Actually, Sarah's from Slytherin."

Remus' eyebrows rose. "Does her Head of House know about this?"

Jonathan grinned. "Are you mad?" A motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and again he looked at the door.

"Fifty-one," Remus muttered.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"Nothing."

"Sarah's here. Will you help her with her Potions homework, then?"

Remus sighed and then looked up at the ceiling. "I've never been one to abandon a damsel in distress."

Jonathan's grin was wide and full of devilry. But so was Remus'.

**Wednesday, 12 February—8:33 p.m.**

Severus Snape walked into the Staff Room and stopped at the sight of the meddling werewolf in a chair near the fireplace. He was telling a story to Fergus Kettleburn, who was seated at the table, but turned so he could see Lupin as they talked.

The Potions master thought about turning around and going back to his rooms, but resentment bubbled up within him and he stopped himself. He had more right to be in this room than that — _Lupin_.

The seven professors — and the one werewolf — in the room looked up from their work and their conversations to greet Severus.

Seeing the scrolls that the younger man had in his hand, Filius Flitwick, who was sitting at the table next to Kettleburn, gestured to the empty spot on his right. "Have a seat, Severus!" he said with a broad smile. A stack of essays on the table next to his left hand was threatening to topple over.

Severus took the offered chair and carefully placed the scrolls in the order that he wanted to review them. He'd start with the ones that he knew would be horrible and proceed through the ones that would be just barely readable, and then finish with the ones that offered some kind of hope that the little cretins were retaining some of what he was trying to stuff inside their heads.

He opened the bottle of ink and carefully sharpened his quill with a spell. As he did, he could hear Lupin nattering on, but ignored him.

The first essay was every bit as awful as he suspected it would be, and as he started on the mindless drivel produced in the second essay, his mind — and his ears — began to wander.

"… And then a couple nights later, he brought Yvonne Barstow to me," Lupin was saying. "And the _next_ day, he told me that another friend of his needed help with Runes. But that was the night we were going to look for the barghest, so I didn't meet him for tutoring…"

Severus wished that Lupin would just get to the point already. He concentrated on the essay in front of him, viciously scratching out words and correcting mistakes until the parchment was bleeding black ink.

The thought occurred to him that, if he was so irritated by Lupin's presence, he should go back to his office. But instantly another voice told him that if he left now, in some way, Lupin was going to win. _What_ and _how_ Lupin was going to win, he didn't know.

"…And now he's bringing students from the other Houses to me!" Remus laughed. "I think he's convinced if he keeps me busy, the Headmaster will somehow let me stay longer."

"Clever boy!" Kettleburn mused, with a chuckle of his own.

Severus couldn't help snorting his disdain.

He saw the quick look that both men gave him, but continued with his marking. Five completely ineptly written essays later, something caught his attention.

"… will you be here?" Kettleburn was asking.

The werewolf shrugged. "Not much longer, I think. I'm waiting to hear from a man who is writing a book about magical creatures in the Alps. He needs someone to help him with his research — and with the creatures. He said he's going to make a choice next week…"

Severus didn't look up as he intoned, "If you need another recommendation in order to find a position—elsewhere, I would be willing to sacrifice a bit of my time to help you _out_."

"I'm — grateful for your concern." Lupin said, with a coolness that meant he obviously got the implication of Severus' last word, "but I wouldn't like to trouble you."

"Pity," Severus replied. "It would have gratifying to help you find a position of actual, I mean, of such importance."

This time he glanced up and noticed the werewolf's eyes glittering with anger.

**Saturday, 15 February—1:52 p.m.**

Remus stood staring at the forest, arms crossed on his chest, and one hand cupping his chin thoughtfully.

He had been dreaming of Libertas and the forest almost every night now for a week. He had thought it was the forest in which he and Hagrid had met Laureola. Now that he was right in front of it, however, he wasn't sure.

In his dreams, there was a large oak off to the left. In reality, it was a clump of myrtle. A large decaying log was to the right of the path that he and Hagrid had taken that night they had chased the barghest. In his dreams, a ghost-like birch had played sentinel to the path, with a smaller evergreen in its shadow.

So this wasn't the forest in his dreams. Question was, what forest was it? And did it matter?

**Monday, 17 February—12:02 p.m.**

Severus seethed inwardly as he watched the werewolf making his way to what had become his usual seat at the Staff Table. He ground his teeth together as Filius Flitwick turned in his chair as Lupin went past.

"Remus, I have a book I think you'd be interested in, about Dark magic in ancient Babylon. You're welcome to come up to my classroom later and get it."

Remus nodded and smiled. "I'd like that."

"And while you're there," the Charms professor grinned widely, "I might ask for your help in showing the fifth year Gryffindors how charms can be quite useful in duelling."

Remus chuckled and said something in response that made Flitwick laugh.

Severus spent the next few minutes thinking of charms he'd use against Lupin — starting with one to make him disappear…

**Tuesday, 18 February—5:59 p.m.**

Remus looked up from his book at the sound of someone approaching. No, several someones approaching.

He gave Jonathan a quizzical look as the boy greeted him with a broad smile.

"They," Jonathan waved a hand in the direction of the four boys and two girls who were following him, "were hoping you could teach them that trick you showed me of reading the Norse runes…"

Remus sat back in the chair, tilted his head to the left, and stared silently at Jonathan.

The boy began to fidget under his gaze.

"Jonathan," the werewolf finally said quietly, "you can't keep doing this."

The Ravenclaw bit his lip, taking a quick glance back at his friends. "Doing what?" he asked so that only Remus could hear him.

"I can't stay here forever." His own words shocked him. He had known it, but to hear it spoken by his own lips—it was conceding a truth, acknowledging a reality that suddenly he wasn't sure he was ready for.

"Why not?" Jonathan asked. "It's not just me who needs some help now and again. I thought, maybe, if the Headmaster saw that there were others that needed your help, he might let you stay longer."

He couldn't help but feel flattered. The boy was worried about him and was trying to help him keep his place.

It was more than most adults would do.

"I knew when I came here that it was only a temporary thing," Remus said quietly, as much to himself as to Jonathan.

Jonathan bit his lip and looked down at the floor. "What happens if my marks start to get bad again?"

Remus smiled. "Then I come back long enough to knock some sense into your head, and then I leave again."

"But you won't —?"

"Jonathan, if your work suffers now, then it will make me look like I've done nothing for you," Remus pointed out. "You're going to do fine without me. That's what we've — what _I've _— been pushing you toward — doing well enough on your own. And, you're almost to that point." He glanced back at the small crowd just beyond earshot. They were getting restless.

"I'll show them the trick with the runes," he decided quickly. "But your two friends in green and silver have to swear to every god they know that they're not going to let Snape hear about this."

Jonathan grinned. "They won't."

"And Jonathan —" Remus paused until the boy's smile faded. "I can't do this any more. I won't tutor anyone else other than you for the rest of the time that I'm here. Not unless the Headmaster orders it. Understood?"

He never appreciated Jonathan more than during those few seconds that went by in which Jonathan struggled against what he believed to be right and agreeing to what Remus was asking. He didn't want to. His reluctance was obvious. But Remus could out-stubborn him if need be, and Jonathan instinctively knew it.

"All right," he agreed finally.

Remus sat back in the chair. "Good." Then he glanced around the table and pointed at the group of students that Jonathan had brought with him. "You lot, find a chair —"

**Wednesday, 19 February—1:03 a.m.**

Libertas touched the trunk of the old tree and then looked over at Remus.

"You will be leaving soon."

Remus closed his eyes against the pain in his heart that the truth brought to him. "Yes."

"You will be leaving the safety of the castle."

"Yes," Remus agreed again. "You said that I couldn't find peace unless I abandon safety."

"The seed must leave the flower in order to sprout."

"But what kind of peace am I supposed to be looking for? We're not at war any more," Remus insisted. "And I can't bloody well be at peace when I have no home to go to, no job to do..."

"The forest is full of peace," Libertas said calmly.

"Yes, but, gods, Libertas, this forest isn't even a forest I _know_! Where in the hell are we, anyway?"

"You have been here," the centaur said. "Once. And if you return, you will find peace here. Peace of mind and peace at heart."

"But I have to go walk through all the bloody forests of the United Kingdom until I find this one particular forest," Remus snapped.

Libertas smiled. "You are thinking like a human — impatiently, illogically. Think like a wolf. Think of the pack, of your alpha, and think of the omega. And remember Dar."

"Dar? But I never met him!"

"But you know him."

"What —" It was all Remus could do not to scream with frustration. "Damn it, horse! For once in your life would you give me a straight answer?"

The centaur nodded. "Now you begin to understand."

"Understand? Understand _what_? I don't — Hey! Where are you going? You can't keep doing this to me!"

But Libertas had left him alone in the forest once again.

**Alright, this chapter bloody deserves a review: Hagrid's accent, centaur-speak, Snape snark... I developed multiple personality disorder over this chapter!**


	27. Chapter 26:'A Difference of Opinion'

A/N: Thanks to SortingHat47 who, at first, told me this wasn't conceivable--and as a result, made me work harder for it. Thanks, also, to Zarathustra who, even though she's a Severus Snape fiend, let me get away with it. (Well, almost all of it--there's one word in this chapter that she and I will probably forever disagree upon. Guess which word it is!) Thank you both for pointing out those horrible little grammar, spelling, and punctuation thingies that I ignore when I'm trying to get my ideas up on the screen! Thanks to remuslives23 for coming up with 'black panther'!

Disclaimer: Not my characters; they belong to JKRowling. The plot of this story, however, is the product of my twisted imagination. (Oh, and Jonathan Blotts is mine. I'll claim him!)

**Chapter 26: 'A Difference of Opinion'**

**Thursday, 20 February, 1985—9:42 p.m.**

The Muggle Studies professor came into the Staff Room and glanced around. "Oh, there you are, Remus! There seems to be a boggart hiding in a closet up on the fourth floor. And, while it's doing us a favour by keeping the more romantically-inclined students from using it for their trysts, I've already had to assure several of the children that their worst nightmares aren't loose in the school. Would you mind taking care of it?"

"I'll take care of it in a bit," Lupin promised, looking back down at the book he had obviously borrowed from Flitwick, considering that the title said, 'Dark Magic in Ancient Babylon.'

Severus looked over at him, and then at the Muggle Studies professor, who had accepted Lupin's answer and was now leaving. "Crenshaw."

All the eyes in the room went to Severus as he stood and said, "I'll take care of it for you."

"I'll get to it, Severus," Lupin protested mildly.

"I have nothing better to do at the moment," Severus told him frostily. "And we all know how busy you've been lately."

He saw Lupin flush, and smiled tightly. He hadn't actually expected a reaction.

He was already several steps down the hallway before the werewolf caught up to him. "Go back to your book, Lupin."

"Severus, I said that I'd deal with it —"

The Potions master stopped and looked at the other man. "If the students are being terrified, it is our responsibility to remove that threat from the school as quickly as possible."

"It's just a bloody boggart —"

"Of course. What's a boggart when there's already a wolf among the lambs —"

Lupin laughed bitterly. "Gods, Severus, can't you come up with a better analogy? That one's a bit overdone, don't you think?"

"I suppose you should go up and deal with the boggart," Severus suddenly conceded, suddenly knowing exactly what to say to this – man, this intruder. "It might serve to help you prove that you're still of some use here."

That brought the werewolf up sharply. He froze and stared at Severus for a long, long moment. "You really know how to slice a person into ribbons with words, don't you?" And with that, he turned and walked stiffly down the hall, and started mounting the steps, presumably for the fourth floor.

**10:02 p.m.**

Sybill Trelawney entered the Staff Room and looked around with a confused look on her face.

"What is it now, Sybill?" McGonagall asked with a sigh. The other woman very rarely came down from her tower, save for the occasional meal and staff meetings. When she did emerge at any other time, there was always some ridiculous reason associated with it.

"Where do black panthers live?" The Divination professor asked.

"Black panthers?" Kettleburn repeated. "Southeast Asia, I believe, in the rainforest. Why?"

The woman stared sightlessly at some point on the wall. "I just had the strangest vision of a black panther and a wolf fighting…"

**4:04 a.m.**

Again, Libertas was with him in that unknown forest.

"Why are you making me work so hard at this?" Remus demanded. "Why can't you just tell me what forest this is, and what you want me to do?"

"You will know when you're ready," the centaur repeated patiently.

Remus sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been trying to work this out, but it's not coming together. If I tell you what I'm thinking, will you tell me where I'm going wrong?"

"If you think like a centaur, you will not misstep."

Remus chuckled. "Well, that's the bloody problem, isn't it? I don't think like one."

"You think like a human. You are impatient for answers. But you already know them."

"I already know the answers. I already have been to this forest. If I already know, then why don't I —" Remus threw his hands up in the air in a frustrated gesture, "_know_?"

"Because it is the wolf that knows."

"You are a right bastard, Libertas." When the centaur didn't move or make a comment, Remus sighed. "All right. Fine. You told me to think of the pack, of the alpha —"

"_Your_ alpha," Libertas interrupted.

"— _My_ alpha and the omega. And to remember Dar."

"Yes."

"What pack are you talking about? I don't have a pack," Remus swallowed hard and felt that awful pain in his heart that he usually did when he thought of those he once had considered his family and his pack. "Not anymore, at least."

The centaur pranced impatiently. "Who was your pack?"

Remus didn't have to think about the answer: he knew it already. "My family, my friends —" _Think of the pack — my family and friends. Think of my alpha. Who was my —? Who did I respect above all others? Dad. Dad was my alpha. So if I think of my dad, and my pack… What does this have to do with this forest? Libertas said it's a place I've been. A place I've been with my pack? Or with my dad? _

And suddenly, it all clicked into place. He had been to the Mersey Forest once with his dad. He had been where Libertas and his herd — _the centaur's pack _— had been.

But what was the omega? _The last or the end of something. _

"Remember Dar," the centaur suddenly said, as if reading his mind.

_Dar, who may or may not be dead. Dar, who may have reached the end of…_

Remus suddenly drew in a deep breath. "You want me to go to the Mersey Forest and tell your pack — your herd — about what happened to you."

Libertas smiled.

**Friday, 21 February—6:42 p.m.**

Remus stopped massaging his tight shoulder muscle and his blue eyes became sharply focused on the boy sitting across the table from him. "What did you say?"

"I said Professor Snape gave me an 'A' on my essay," Jonathan said, laying the essay on the table in front of his tutor.

"What?" Remus' question was purely rhetorical now, a mixture of astonishment and anger. "What in the bloody hell is he playing at? An '_A'_?"

Madam Pince made a shushing noise and glared at him over the tops of her glasses. Remus ignored her.

"This essay easily deserved an 'E'. It was very probably even worth an 'O'!" Remus insisted loudly, as his fist crashed down on the table. "Merlin's bloody blue—" He didn't finish that phrase, which was probably wise.

"Did anybody in your class get an 'E'?" Remus demanded. "Or an 'O'?"

"Marlaina Fisher —"

The werewolf got to his feet. "Let's go see Miss Fisher, then, shall we?"

"Wait a minute! Why?"

"Gentlemen, I'll have no more of this," Madam Pince suddenly snapped.

"We're leaving," Remus said over his shoulder at her. "Come on, Jonathan. We've got to see that girl's essay."

The boy scrambled to collect his belongings. His tutor was already heading for the door, essay in hand, muttering things under his breath that couldn't mean Severus Snape any good.

"Why are we trying to find Marlaina?" Jonathan asked breathlessly, as he trotted to keep up with Remus' long strides.

The man stopped and turned to look at him. "I want to see exactly what Snape believes is worth an 'E'. In the past month, you've earned mostly passing marks, and that's fabulous. But, I know of at least four papers that I would have — no, that _anybody_ would have given an 'E'; but he only gave you a 'P' or an 'A'. I'm bloody sick of it. I'm sick of the fact that you've worked so hard, and you bloody deserve a better grade than this." Remus held the essay up. It was clenched tightly in his fist, and Jonathan was suddenly very, very glad that the man wasn't angry with him.

**Saturday, 22 February — 10:34 a.m.**

"It's worth more than an 'A'."

"It is only deserving of an 'A.'"

"No, it's not. It bloody well deserves an 'E', Snape, if not an 'O'."

"By whose standards?"

"By anyone's standards!"

Severus tilted his head back slightly, so that he was looking down his nose at Lupin. "'Anyone' being the one who nearly failed Advanced Potions in the seventh year?"

"I did not — I am not here to discuss the marks I earned or the ones I didn't. I'm here to ask you to put this right."

"Well, perhaps I would if I were altogether certain that he wrote the paper," Severus said calmly.

Remus stared at him. "Are you accusing him of copying? Or plagiarising?"

"I was thinking that perhaps someone wrote it for him."

"_What_? Like who?"

"I'm saying it's deplorable enough that _you_ could have."

Remus shot to his feet and backed away from the desk. Anger, sharp and dangerous, had surged through him, and he had the sudden nasty suspicion that he shouldn't have attempted this conversation now, only two days before the full moon. Still, he had come here to see this issue resolved. With both fists clenched in his pockets, he glared at Severus. "It's not right to punish that boy because of me."

"I am doing nothing of the sort."

Remus took two long steps and leaned his hands on the desk. "Then if you think he's turned in someone else's work as his own, you need to charge him with cheating."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And if I do?'

"Then it will be horribly embarrassing for you and highly amusing for me when Dumbledore or Flitwick decide he did the research, organized, and wrote the damned thing all on his own," Remus said with a dangerous gleam in his eye, though he forced himself to smile pleasantly. "He deserves better on that essay."

"Get out of my office, Lupin."

Remus moved the essay over so that it was right in front of Severus. "Do the right thing for once, Severus. Give Jonathan the mark he deserves."

"It is my class, it was an essay I assigned —"

"And so, you'll give whatever mark you want," Remus finished the sentence for him.

Severus actually smiled: a self-satisfied smirk of triumph. "Exactly."

Remus took a deep breath. "Fine." He grabbed the essay from Snape's desk and began to roll it up. "The fact is, Severus, that he'll be a better Potions student than I ever was. He knows things instinctively. I just showed him how to organize his thoughts and write better so that he's finally able to prove what he knows. And," the werewolf grinned wolfishly, "he just needed someone with some basic Potions skills to show him what his professor didn't." He saw Severus' lip curl, and the black eyes flare with anger. Perhaps it was the coming full moon or his already considerable anger on Jonathan's part. Perhaps it was stupidity, but he couldn't resist one parting shot as he turned and started for the door: "But we know why he got this grade: I made you look incompetent, and you can't stand it."

The Potions Master's hand blurred as it went up into his sleeve.

Remus reached for the wand in his pocket, but knew he was going to be too late. As Severus' wand cleared the man's sleeve, Remus threw himself down onto the floor. The hex flew over his head, smashing into the stone wall beyond, sending bits of sand and rock in all directions.

Another spell was already coming at Remus, but his wand was in his hand now, and a simple "_Protego!_" sent it away from him. The wolf inside his mind howled with satisfaction.

"I said _get out_, Lupin!" Severus snarled.

Remus couldn't help grinning from the adrenaline and ferocity coursing through him. "Are you going to _make_ me, _Snivellus_?"

"You have no right to be here in the first place," the Potions professor said angrily. "You don't belong here, Lupin!"

It hurt, that simple truth, but Remus wasn't about to let Snape know it. "I belong here as long as the Headmaster says that I do."

"He's a fool for bringing you here!"

"For the love of — I'm not trying to lure the students down to the Shrieking Shack —"

"Like you did one other time?"

"I had nothing to do with that, Snape! You know that!" Remus shouted, hearing the frustration in his own voice at the protestation.

"Of course not. It was all Black's doing," Severus sneered. "You were never to blame for anything, were you? Lupin the Prefect, one of the Marauders, one of Dumbledore's golden Gryffindors… It was always Black or Potter who you claimed led you astray. How convenient that must have been when Black was arrested."

Remus felt his hackles rise, and he swallowed the growl that was forming. He wanted Snape to shut up because he knew what would come next from the Potion Master's lips would be irredeemably hurtful and nasty. The wolf, however, was waiting in nearly joyful anticipation, knowing that the fight was just beginning.

With his wand still aimed right at Remus' chest, the dark-haired man continued, "How convenient indeed. You had so much practice at blaming Black for your transgressions that it had to be very, very easy to let the blame be placed solely on his head for betraying the Potters —"

"I had nothing to do with what happened to James and Lily!" Remus said harshly.

"Of course not," Severus drawled, sarcasm dripping — no, pouring — over, around, and through the words. "You had nothing to do with their deaths. You only ignored the fact that Black belonged to the Dark Lord. You ignored it, Lupin! And they died because you were too blind to see what was right there in — _Protego_!" The shield went up right before Remus' hex slammed into him, sending white sparks everywhere.

**11:02 a.m.**

A wild-eyed boy came charging into Minerva McGonagall's office, panting and sweating. "Professor, they're fighting in the Great Hall! They've locked the doors —"

"_Who_ is fighting in the Great Hall?" McGonagall asked, already moving from behind her desk and starting for the door.

"Professor Snape and Mr Lupin —"

The boy halted in his tracks and watched the Transfiguration professor hurry down the corridor. Surely he hadn't heard her say what he thought…

**11:11 a.m.**

McGonagall and Flitwick met at the top of the first floor steps: Filius had been on his way up the stairs to get the Headmaster. McGonagall quickly sent a Patronus off for the wizard instead, and she and Flitwick went down the stairs to keep the students away from the Great Hall.

"They've both gone mad, if they are in there duelling," Flitwick commented.

Something hit the doors, rattling them dangerously.

"They're certainly up to something that they shouldn't be," Minerva said. "What in the world would make them do something so idiotic?"

Was that the sound of broken glass?

"Albus is going to have their heads on pikes if they don't come to their senses," Filius remarked.

They stood staring at each other for a moment, and then they both smiled. "Care to raise the wager?" the Charms professor asked quietly.

"Ten Galleons that Severus drew first," McGonagall said after a moment.

"Hmmm…" Flitwick looked thoughtful. "It's only two days until the full moon, Minerva..." He let his sentence trail off meaningfully.

She shrugged. "I still think —" She stopped when she saw the smaller man's eyes flicker past her and turned.

Albus Dumbledore was descending the last staircase, three students on his heels.

"Minerva, Filius — what is happening?"

"The doors are locked, Albus," Flitwick said. "We thought we'd wait for you before we tried to open them."

Their eyes were suddenly drawn to the doors. They had definitely just heard glass shattering.

"All right, children, back to your dormitories," McGonagall ordered the three curious students lurking behind the Headmaster. They groaned, but turned away as Flitwick made a shooing motion with his hands.

"What brought this on?" Dumbledore asked.

Flitwick shrugged. "It's Severus and Remus," he said, as if that was all that was needed to explain.

"I warned you that this was coming for a while, now," McGonagall said to Dumbledore sternly. "I told you that Severus has been full of resentment for weeks, and Remus is… well, the moon will be full in two days."

The Headmaster sighed and put his hands on the doors. "Filius, follow me, please. I'll disarm Severus. You disarm Remus. Minerva, please close the doors behind us."

He concentrated for a moment and suddenly a blue glow surrounded the doors and they crashed open. The two wizards entered the Great Hall quickly, immediately needing to step around the remains of a bench, and the doors slammed shut behind them.

Remus was the closer of the two, and thusly, was the first to find his wand stripped from his hand. Severus likewise found himself disarmed as Dumbledore stopped at a point in front of Severus and across the hall from Remus.

Now that both young men were staring at him, the Headmaster let his gaze slowly burn over each one. "What is going on here?"

The two younger men exchanged glances, but said nothing.

It gave Flitwick a chance to note the damage done. It was substantial, but considering they were two grown wizards, he wasn't really surprised.

The Hufflepuffs' table had collapsed in two places, and part of the Ravenclaws' table was nothing but matchsticks at the end closest to the Staff's table. A Slytherin tapestry was smouldering, threatening to blaze at any moment. Five panes of glass had shattered in two different windows, and a countless quantity of candles lay on the floor in pieces. Filius was certain that there had to be at least twenty scorch marks on the walls, and at least as many magically-created gouges in the stones of the wall and the floor.

"Remus, if you'd please get off the table," Dumbledore suggested.

The werewolf glanced around him, as if just now realising that he was, indeed, standing in the middle of the Gryffindor table.

Severus stood unflinchingly on the dais at the front of the room, and Flitwick now saw the bloody cut along his cheekbone.

"Are you all right, Severus?" Dumbledore asked gently.

The Potions Master nodded once, stiffly and curtly, his black eyes fastened on Lupin.

"And you, Remus?" the Headmaster asked.

"I'm fine," the werewolf said, hopping down from the table. He winced audibly as he did.

"Then tell me what in the world would possess the two of you to do such an incredibly senseless and dangerous thing as duel in the Great Hall, where any student could have been injured by your foolishness!" Dumbledore demanded. His words echoed thunderously in the room.

Snape stood silently unrepentant. Lupin was equally defiant, but not nearly as silent. "We were having — a difference of opinion," he said, shooting a glance at Severus.

Flitwick knew the situation was very serious, but he couldn't help snickering under his breath.

"'A difference of opinion'?" Dumbledore repeated. He looked at Severus. "And do you, Mr Snape, also agree with Mr Lupin's explanation? That this was merely a 'difference of opinion'?"

Filius saw the anger in the black eyes. The young man did not want to agree with Remus, did not want Remus to have the last word, but was unwilling to provide a more adequate — and a more correct — version of what had happened. "That is one way of looking at it," he finally admitted.

Dumbledore sighed, but the anger was still present in his voice when he spoke again: "You two will repair _all_ the damage you have done. Then I expect to see you _both_ in my office immediately after you are finished. And I will not tolerate such behaviour from either one of you again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Perfectly."

Dumbledore tossed Severus' wand to him and then turned sharply, his robes billowing behind him with the speed of his movements.

Flitwick paused to glance one last time at the miscreants: one completely motionless, except for the cold fire still burning in his eyes; the other thoughtfully rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip, his eyes hard with the suppression of whatever he was feeling at this moment.

Still, Remus smiled at Filius when the Charms professor returned his wand.

"Who drew first?" Flitwick whispered.

Remus blinked, and then the blue eyes suddenly danced with restrained laughter. "Wasn't me," he whispered in return.

**12:37 p.m.**

"He is not a threat to you, Severus."

The Potions professor glared at him balefully. "Shall we talk about the Whomp—?"

"No, we shan't," Dumbledore interrupted. "We're talking about the situation that exists now." He stroked Fawkes' head one last time and then went to stand beside his desk—and the chair in which Severus Snape now sat. "You went to the carnival to look for him. You were the one who forced them to find Healer Weimer. You had a chance to turn things around, Severus. Why did you not take it?"

"You know why," Severus said, barely moving his lips.

"Because of an incident that happened in your fifth year?" The Headmaster shook his head incredulously. When the younger man didn't answer, Dumbledore stroked his beard slowly, thinking very deeply. The barest wisp of a thought brushed against the old wizard's consciousness, and he allowed his mind to follow it to see where it led. "Severus, it is not right to punish him for whom his friends were. After all, you had friends of your own that were involved in dangerous activities."

"His friends —" the younger man broke off, shaking his head, his lip curled into a sneer. "He and his sadistic friends tortured me, and you allowed it."

"And you did nothing to them in return?" the Headmaster asked. "What did you expect me to do, Severus? If I had expelled Black or Potter, I'd have had to expel you. Sirius Black sent you under the Whomping Willow. You developed _Sectumsempra_. Which could I say was the more evil of the two?"

Severus stared at him in uncharacteristic disbelief. Then he got up and strode angrily out of the room.

The Headmaster sighed heavily. He had hoped…

**1:24 p.m.**

Remus turned to close the door very gently behind him. He stayed there, his palm resting on the smooth, cool wood as he said quietly, "It's time for me to go."

"Remus, there's no reason for —"

Now the younger man turned to face Dumbledore, and the Headmaster was surprised to see the firm set to Remus' jaw—and the determined look in his eyes. "I've been thinking it for a while, and this is what I've been waiting for," the werewolf said. "I was a fool to let him get to me like that. I was a bigger fool to provoke him." He shook his head. "It's time that I moved on."

The Headmaster was silent for a long moment. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

Remus shrugged. "I have no reason to stay."

"Have you found a position somewhere?"

"You know I haven't."

"Then where will you go?"

"I'll do what I always do."

"Sleep on the streets and steal or beg for food?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but Remus could sense the man's disapproval — and his discomfort.

"I've done it before," the werewolf acknowledged, his tone sharp. Then he softened it and went on. "I have the money that Alastor got for me from Parsons. I can live on that for a bit."

"When are you planning to leave?"

He saw Remus' quick glance out the window, and heard him draw a deep breath. "Tonight."

"Is that wise? The full moon is in two days. What will you do then?"

"I'll find a place. I've got two days."

"Why don't you leave after the full moon? It's only two more days, and then you could take another day or two to recover…"

The werewolf was already shaking his head. "No, I'll be fine."

Dumbledore knew he didn't have the right to hold the young man here; if Remus wanted to leave, he could leave. But Albus was not going to let him go without an offer of help or assistance. "If you come back here for your transformation, Madame Pomfrey can —"

Remus cut him off abruptly. "I've imposed enough."

"You haven't —"

Suddenly the young man's composure broke—just a little, but enough for Dumbledore to feel the anguish. "Please don't," Remus whispered, his voice quavering just the tiniest bit. "This is what I've been working toward —going back out on my own. I have to go."

"You're certain."

"Yes."

How long they stood there, staring at each other silently, the Headmaster couldn't tell. But Remus suddenly turned away, and reached for the door.

"I think you should be the one to tell Jonathan Blotts," Dumbledore said quietly.

He saw Remus' eyes close for a moment as he absorbed that simple order and what that was going to entail.

"I will," the younger man finally promised. "But will you tell the others — Hagrid and the professors — that I appreciated all they've done to make me feel —" he swallowed hard, "— at home?"

"I will."

Remus jerked the door open quickly now, as if he couldn't leave the office fast enough. But then he stopped and looked back once last time. "Thank you," he whispered.

"There is nothing to thank me for," Dumbledore said softly.

It seemed for a moment like the younger man might argue with him, but then he left, closing the door firmly behind him.

The Headmaster rubbed his forehead tiredly with his fingers. "And there goes the second most lonely young man that I know."

And then suddenly, his hand lowered and he began to stroke his beard instead. "Yes," he muttered. "Of course."

He then picked up his wand and, thinking of a happier moment in his life, conjured a silver phoenix…

**3:56 p.m.**

As Remus approached the Ravenclaws' Tower, he saw three girls walking toward him. He recognized one of them as being a Ravenclaw. "I need to see Jonathan Blotts," Remus said to her after greeting them quickly. "Would you know –?"

"Oh, I'll get him for you," the girl said. "He was in the common room as we left." She gave Remus a broad smile, leaving him to chitchat with the other girls.

It was only a minute or two before Jonathan came charging out of the door and into the hallway. He stopped a few feet from Remus, his eyes wide and nearly frightened. "Mr Lupin? Are you — all right? Did you really get into a fight with Professor Snape? Someone said you did, but —"

"Let's take a walk," Remus suggested, cutting him off. He nodded in farewell to the girls and pulled Jonathan along with him as he started to walk.

"Did Professor Snape —?"

"Let's wait until we get somewhere a little more private, shall we?" Remus said.

"Is there something wrong?" Jonathan asked. His eyes were becoming wider and rounder by the second. "Whatever it is, it's bad news, isn't it?"

Remus smiled ruefully. "Can you give me a little bit of time to explain?"

He led Jonathan silently up to the seventh floor and made him stand against a blank stretch of wall. Then, as Jonathan watched him, bewildered, Remus walked past him three times, concentrating on what he needed. _I need a place where I can talk to Jonathan — a couple of chairs, a table —something to drink would be nice… _

The door appeared and he smiled and motioned for Jonathan to turn around.

"Where did that come from?" the boy asked, mystified.

"It's magic," Remus said with a grin. "Go on in. There's nothing in there to hurt you."

They found themselves sitting in at a small wooden table in two wooden chairs with padded seats. It was strongly reminiscent of sitting at a pub. The bottles of butterbeer on the table helped complete the setting.

They sat down, and as Remus opened the bottles, Jonathan again started to badger him for answers. "So, what _did _happen with Professor Snape? They say you two locked yourselves up in the Great Hall. I tried to see for myself, but the professors had blocked off the stairways and wouldn't let us near. Did he say something to you? Was this about my paper? Did he —"

"Jonathan, stop!" Remus said sharply. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Sorry. Just give me a moment, will you? I'll answer all your questions, I promise."

The boy sat back and took a drink of butterbeer. He looked as if he were going to explode with the effort of holding back another barrage of questions.

Remus sighed. "The — disagreement — that Professor Snape and I had was indirectly related to your essay, yes. We argued about it and things got nasty. But, ultimately, it was the things that have remained unsettled between us for years that made us do one of the most incredibly stupid things that I can remember doing for a long time."

"So you _were_ fighting in the Great Hall!" The boy's eyes lit up.

"I'm not proud of that," Remus mumbled, looking down at the table. He didn't want Jonathan to see any trace of defiance that might remain.

"Who won?"

"It doesn't matter," the werewolf replied with a sigh. "There will be some that will think that he did –"

Jonathan's face fell. "You lost?"

Remus laughed bitterly. "I gave a decent accounting for myself, and so did he. But after the Headmaster stopped us —"

"I'll bet he was furious!"

Wanting to get through this now, Remus ignored Jonathan's comment and continued just a bit louder to drown the boy's words, "— I decided that I should leave."

The Ravenclaw stared at him speechlessly, his mouth agape. "You're leaving?"

Remus nodded. "Yes."

"_When_?"

"Tonight."

"But, you can't!" Jonathan cried. "I've got a paper on — Are you leaving because you lost?"

"I didn't lo— oh, for Merlin's sake, Jonathan! This is not about who won or lost. Truth be told, in the actual fight, neither one of us won. This is about —" Remus paused to think of the right word, "— timing. I told you that I was pushing you toward the time when you could handle doing your work here on your own. But I was here because I was pushing myself toward the time when I could go back to my life and whatever that may bring. I have something I need to do, Jonathan, and I can't do it while I'm here. It's time for me to go and do it."

"But tonight?" Jonathan protested. "Can't you wait a day or two?"

"I could," Remus admitted. "The full moon is in two nights, and I would rather be here for it. But if I don't leave now…" He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I can't stay."

_You're letting Snivellus win, Moony! _Sirius' howl was almost audible.

"But I — you — won't —" the boy seemed stunned, unable to put words together to make a coherent sentence. Remus took a long drink of butterbeer, giving the Ravenclaw some time to pull things together in his head. "My essay! For Defence Against the Dark Arts!" Jonathan finally blurted out.

Remus chuckled. "You'll do fine. You —"

"I was going to do it on werewolves!" Jonathan exclaimed.

Now it was Remus' turn to be taken aback.

"After we were talking up on the Tower, I found out there's not much out there about werewolves. Nothing good, at any rate. There are books written by people who only tell how to kill them —"

"I've seen enough of those," Remus muttered.

"— But there aren't many books that really tell what it's like to be a werewolf. I was thinking that maybe you could help me find some books to write the essay —" the boy smiled shyly, "— and maybe I could start getting information together to actually write my own book about werewolves when I leave here."

Remus couldn't help but chuckle. "Jonathan, that's an extremely ambitious goal. And while I appreciate the thought —"

"I know you don't believe me, but —"

"It's not that I don't believe you," Remus interrupted. "It's just that you're only in your fifth year. You've got two and a half years yet to go before you leave Hogwarts. And you've got talents that you're just discovering. You may decide there are other worthy subjects to write about. Or," he forced a chuckle, "all the essays you're going to do during your seventh year in preparation for your N.E.W.T.s will take all the joy out of writing."

He saw Jonathan open his mouth, but he leaned forward and put his hand on the boy's forearm. "Whatever you say, it's not going to change anything. I've already told Professor Dumbledore that I'm leaving."

It wasn't until he saw tears well up in the boy's eyes that he felt the sting of salt in his own. "It's been good knowing you, Jonathan. You've been good for me."

The farewell hug that the boy gave him made him feel more human than he had in months.

**7:23 p.m.**

Remus slipped through the gates and waited until they closed and locked behind him. There was a finality to the clanging sound that made him sigh.

He had thought he would never return to Hogwarts after he had finished his seventh year. He had been pleasantly surprised to find himself assisting others in setting wards and charms around the grounds while they were fighting Voldemort.

This time, he had been given sanctuary and a place to stay while he healed.

Would he ever again get the chance to return? He turned to touch the gate one last time.

There was a sudden pop of someone Apparating, and he spun around, his wand clenched in his fist.

"There you are," Alastor Moody grunted. "Ready?"

"Ready for what?" Remus asked, completely bewildered.

"To go home, of course," the Auror replied, as if Remus was being deliberately stupid.

"To go —" Remus' voice failed him.

"Dumbledore said you were leaving. I didn't figure you'd want to sleep outside tonight. It's snowing like a bitch in London, and the cold up here'll freeze the tits off a bull. You remember how to get to my place, right?"

Dumbly, Remus nodded.

"See you there, then." And with that, Moody spun around and disappeared.

**Well? Did you like? Tell me what you think!**


	28. Chapter 27:Pulling Strings

A/N: Thanks, as always to the wonderful Zarathustra--bless you for your time and patience with me! And hugs to the amazing SortingHat47, who still loves me even if I drop my infinitives.

I apologize because I did a horrible thing in the last chapter: I forgot to thank all of you for reviewing and for putting my 'little' story on alert. Please know that no disrespect or arrogance was meant by it. I truly appreciate every review and cheer for every alert that I receive. Thank you all very much!

Disclaimer: Yeah, well, I want to say that Remus and Moody were my creations, but they aren't. They belong to JKRowling. Lucky wench. (But thanks, Jo, for letting me play with them!)

**Chap. 27: Pulling Strings**

**Tuesday, 25 February, 1986—7:10 p.m.**

Remus had been unable to find a suitable place for his transformation. He Apparated to an abandoned cottage on the moors in Mid Wales that he had used a few times, but it was now in such a state of disrepair that it was useless. The strengthening charms he had used once before would never be able to hold the wolf in now.

Moody had suggested going to the Ministry, but Remus' one experience there had been so awful that he couldn't bear the thought of going back.

Unable to come up with another alternative, he went back to the Shrieking Shack, leaving it to Moody to tell Dumbledore he was there. He was too disheartened at what was obviously his first failure to stand on his own two feet to go to the Headmaster himself.

When the sun rose, pale and listless, on the morning after the full moon, Remus was awakened by strong, but surprisingly gentle hands applying a sweet-smelling ointment to a gouge he had bitten from his forearm.

Moody saw his eyes flicker open and then close again. "You've done a number on yourself."

Remus winced at the sudden onrush of pain that the Auror's words seemed to bring on.

"Ripped your hip open," Moody continued. "Don't figure you'll be able to walk right for a day or two."

The torn flesh on his hip did seem to be the worst of it, and Moody Apparated them both back to his place. Patiently and gently, he helped Remus to the guest room, where the werewolf had stayed the two nights after he had left Hogwarts.

"I've got to go to the Ministry," the Auror said. "You'll be okay by yourself?"

Remus smiled sleepily at the man's question. He had handled these transformations alone for years now.

"Be fine," he mumbled. "Jus' need t' sleep."

"All right, then. I'll be back later to check on you."

The younger man wasn't sure, but he thought he felt the slight weight of a calloused hand on his shoulder just as he drifted off…

**5:10 p.m.**

Remus carefully limped down the stairs, his fingers gripping the banister tightly to keep his injured hip from pitching him forward. Moody would have a fit that he was up, he knew, but the need for a pain potion was greater than the thought of the Auror's wrath.

_Why doesn't he keep them upstairs in the bathroom like normal people?_

He made his way into the kitchen and practically fell into one of the kitchen chairs. He was sweating and trembling from his exertions. No, Moody would not be happy at all.

"_Accio_ pain potion," he said, reaching out to catch the vial that flew out of a small cabinet to the left.

It was cool and brought instant relief. It also brought back the exhaustion.

He crossed his arms on the tabletop and rested his head upon them, planning on only resting for a moment or two before either getting up and going back upstairs to bed or, since he was here, and if he could manage it, preparing dinner.

He was awakened by a gruff voice swearing and he jerked his head up, blinking wearily.

"Lupin, what in the hell are you doing up? You should still be in bed!"

Remus rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and stifled a yawn. "I came down for some pain potion…"

"I left one on the table by the bed. Didn't you see it?"

Remus smiled sheepishly. "No."

"Then why didn't you just _Accio_ the damned thing from upstairs?"

The werewolf shook his head. "I honestly just didn't think about it. Stupid of me." He offered a lopsided smile. "I don't always think clearly the day after a full moon."

Moody made a harrumphing sound and stomped over to the icebox, which was charmed to stay cold. As he passed Remus, he dropped a letter on the table next to the younger man. "Saw Albus today. He said this arrived this morning."

Remus had forgotten the job he had tried to get with the researcher in the Alps. After reading the letter, he realised it was just as well that he had. He crumbled the parchment into a tight ball and tossed it onto the table.

"Bad news?" Moody asked.

"Nothing unexpected," Remus replied bitterly.

The Auror set a butterbeer in front of the younger man and set to opening one for himself. "How's the hip? Need another potion?"

Remus' hand automatically went to the bandages. "It's stiff. Hurts a bit, but not too badly."

"Beef stew good enough for tonight?"

Remus nodded. "Fine."

Moody put a paring knife and some potatoes and carrots in front of Remus, and began to work on cubing the beef. They worked in silence for several minutes.

Suddenly Moody cleared his throat and asked, "Who hexed you?'

Remus looked up quickly, just missing slicing his finger open with the knife. "What?"

"When I was bandaging your hip, I saw the mark on your leg. Who hexed you?"

"Oh, that." Remus smiled. "Severus Snape."

"What possessed him to do that?"

"I insulted him, and then he insulted me, and one thing led to another, and the next thing I know, we're duelling in the Great Hall."

Moody, who had been putting the chunks of meat in a pot, stopped and turned to look at Remus. "Come again?"

"I haven't in months, so I can't again right now," quipped Remus before he really thought about it.

Moody's magical eye seemed to pierce him through for a moment, and then the Auror started roaring with laughter. "Merlin, I've missed that sense of humour of yours!"

"Glad someone has," Remus muttered under his breath.

"You were duelling in the Great Hall?" Moody prompted.

"Yes, well, his office was a bit tight for tossing spells around haphazardly, and there was the likelihood that we'd release something poisonous or lethal…"

"Gods, boy! Why didn't you let me know? I'd have come to watch the fun!"

"You and everyone else, apparently," Remus said with a sigh. "McGonagall and Flitwick had wagers on it."

"Damn, Minerva will bet on anything… I don't suppose Albus was happy about it."

"No, he definitely was not happy," Remus admitted. He finished peeling the skin from the last potato and reached for the carrots.

"Who won?"

Remus rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, thinking of Jonathan. "Why does it matter who won?"

"Don't tell me you _lost_! Not to Snape!"

"I didn't lose!" Remus protested. "It was more of a draw than anything."

"He got your leg —"

"And I got him on the face," Remus said grumpily. "Can we change the subject?"

Moody started cubing the potatoes, dropping them into the pot along with the beef. "Albus didn't tell me what happened. He just said you'd had a difference of opinion with Snape and you were determined to leave. I didn't realise a 'difference of opinion' meant fighting in the Great Hall."

Remus blinked. "'A difference of opinion'?"

"That's what he said."

Remus couldn't help himself. He started chuckling and before long, he was laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

**Wednesday, 5 March—6:35 a.m.**

Remus slid another link of sausage onto a plate meant for Moody and then whispered a warming charm over it. A quick glance at the clock told him that Alastor would be down soon.

Though he and Moody had never discussed it, he had taken it upon himself to make himself a sort of oversized house-elf to show Moody how appreciative he was of the Auror's offer to let him stay there until he found a decent job.

The older man seemed to know what Remus was doing, but beyond a simple, "Hey, Lupin, if you're going to do any shopping today, I need…" or a, "You know, I was thinking some fish might taste good tonight…" he remained silent about Remus' efforts. He always managed to talk Remus into accepting money to pay for everything, with the exception of a bottle of wine or some butterbeer now and again.

It was perhaps a strange arrangement, but they both were content with it.

Remus hadn't had any luck in his hunt for a job in the wizarding world. He'd been to one interview, but got up and left when the prospective employer had started ranting about half-breeds… and what he wanted the Ministry to do to them.

Glancing through the window and seeing snowflakes lazily falling, Remus sighed. There was nothing like walking aimlessly through the streets of London looking for work in the cold and snow…

An owl suddenly popped into his line of sight and he raised the window before it could tap on the glass. It dropped the _Daily Prophet_ on the table, received a piece of sausage along with payment, and then flew off.

Remus unfolded the newspaper and glanced over the headlines. Overhead, he could hear Moody tromping around in his room. Realising he'd have a few minutes before the Auror came down, he opened the newspaper to look at the advertisements. One couldn't know when there'd be a 'Help Needed' listing that actually said, 'Werewolves welcome.'

As he flipped through the pages slowly, scanning the articles to see what he'd need to return to read more thoroughly, something caught his eye.

With every word of the article, his heart seemed to beat a little faster, and his weight was shifted more subtly to his arms as he leaned on the table, because his legs just couldn't support him. When he finished, he looked up, stunned, to see Alastor Moody standing in the doorway.

"Should I have warned you?" the Auror asked.

"How did this happen?" Remus' voice was quiet, almost filled with awe.

"Well…" The Auror limped across the kitchen and headed for the icebox. "Some strings got pulled."

Remus knew he had to look positively gobsmacked. "But — How — _Why_?"

"I suppose if you're going to be known as 'Dumbledore's pet werewolf,' you might as well get some kind of benefit from it."

Remus sank down onto one of the chairs and ran one long-fingered hand through his hair. "But for _this —_"

Moody grabbed the pitcher of juice from the icebox, a glass from the cabinet next to it, and plonked himself down on the chair next to Remus. "Parsons and Bentley deserve this. You know that."

The werewolf couldn't quite decide what to feel about 'this.' The words were still sinking in, and the implications…

"The Ministry found them in violation of sixty-nine regulations and codes," Moody said. "I know the article may have said more —"

"It says 'eighty-seven' here," Remus said, letting his finger rest at a point on the page.

"— But some of the charges have been dropped already."

"Like what?" Remus asked.

Moody stared at him intently for a moment, then said, "We know that they had a werewolf, and they allowed crowds of people in the same room with that werewolf while he was in a transformed state. That is a clear violation of the law. But, initial charges that the werewolf had been brought there and kept there against his will were dismissed months ago." Seeing Remus was about to speak, the older man continued quickly, "That werewolf chose not to testify, you understand, so the Wizengamot didn't get his side of the story. There is also an unofficial report that states there was a mermaid that died from neglect, as well as a centaur that had been murdered, but there isn't anyone who has come forward to testify as to those charges. So, the Wizengamot decided to drop those as well in favour of other charges that they _can_ prove."

'Bentley and Parsons Charged With Eighty-Seven Violations,' Remus read silently, yet again. After a moment, the headline of the magical newspaper flickered to read, 'Animals Seized From Oldest Running Carnival in U.K.'

He looked up at the man sitting next to him. "It says the Ministry didn't close them down completely."

"They didn't, no. But, Bentley and Parsons are, at this point, prohibited from keeping any creature that the Ministry could classify as a Being. They are also prohibited from keeping any animal above the Ministry's danger Classification of XX for at least five years; longer, if they have any violations during that time. This will definitely affect their popularity. They'll be closed within a year," Moody predicted with a satisfied smirk.

"Where did they take the creatures?" Remus asked, deciding to ignore the tightening inside his chest.

"The Erumpent has been re-released into the wild. The hippogriff was taken to a trainer in France. The jarvey was taken in by another carnival… Lupin, do you really want me to tell you what happened to every single animal?" The man sounded vaguely concerned that it might be exactly what Remus wanted.

"What about the colt?" Remus couldn't believe how breathless he sounded. "The Granian foal?"

"Taken to a reputable breeder in Ireland."

"And the clabbert?"

"It's still there, since it's not classified as a dangerous animal. But it's doing well, if that helps."

Remus' eyes scanned down through the article again. "Why weren't they ever found in violation before?"

Moody looked more disgusted than Remus had ever seen him. "They've been paying off the inspection teams to overlook some of the missing charms and wards, and to ignore some of the problems they'd had with Muggles. Bribery counts for at least eighteen of the charges against them, and the inspectors are going to wish they'd never even _heard_ of Bentley and Parsons by the time we're through with _them_."

"Why now?" Remus asked after a moment's thought.

"It does take a while for the wheels of departmentalized government to move," Moody said with a shrug. With a sudden laugh, he added, "Though it helps when you've got Dumbledore greasing those wheels."

"Dumbledore…" Remus whispered.

"He and Alexander—remember him? From the Beast Division? He was there that day at Hogwarts…" Remus nodded, not needing further explanation of which exact day Moody was speaking. "… They got an inspection team to go to Bentley and Parson's in the first part of November. The inspection team said they didn't find anything suspicious. But that made _me_ suspicious, so I let Dumbledore know. It took him three months to get the authorisation to put together a new inspection team — one that hadn't been corrupted."

"And they found all this?" Remus pointed to the article.

"We know of more," Moody said, with a meaningful stare at the werewolf. "This is what we could nail the sons of bitches with. They're going to fight the charges, of course. It will probably take a year for the dust to settle from this, but I'd be willing to bet they'll both be sitting in Azkaban for a bit."

Remus sat back and exhaled slowly.

"Are you all right? I know this is a bit of a shock." The Auror's voice was full of concern, though it certainly didn't show on his scarred and rugged features.

"I don't really know," Remus admitted. "I never thought it would go so far."

"That's one reason why Albus didn't tell you about the investigation. Even though he was doing everything he could to push things along, he was afraid it would fall apart at the last minute." Moody rubbed his chin slowly, thoughtfully, still keeping his eyes on the younger man. "They had another werewolf there when we went out there day before yesterday."

Shock, undeniable and sharp, went through Remus' body. "Another –"

"He was about five years older than you, but he'd been bit only five years ago. He lost everything then. He was just looking for a place to stay and regular meals. He didn't know what they're capable of doing."

Remus shuddered. _And there, but for the grace of God, go I… _The truth of that thought was painful. He couldn't fathom ever being so lost that he'd voluntarily subject himself to the horrors that had been the carnival. He couldn't imagine he'd ever consider such an alternative for the sake of food and shelter. "Did they — hurt him?" he finally asked quietly.

"No," Moody replied. "I think they were letting him settle in, letting him get used to them before they tried anything. He wasn't happy we were taking his new home away from him, even after I'd told him he'd have to pay for it eventually with blood."

"_Shit_," whispered Remus, chills stabbing through him as Moody's literal and accurate phrase reminded him painfully of things he'd hoped he'd forgotten: kneeling on the concrete floor, naked and bleeding; Parsons gloating about the blood they'd collected…

"Lupin?" Moody was looking at him, a strange expression on his face, but Remus couldn't answer. His thoughts were slashing through his head, ripping his memory open with the subtlety of a dragon's claws…

… The last transformation at the carnival, when the wolf had been taunted and teased by the presence of hot flesh and blood on the other side of the bars; the morning after that, when Remus had awakened for a very brief moment in a pool of his own blood before sliding into unconsciousness again…

He could barely hear Moody call his name again, because of the blood roaring in his ears…

… And suddenly, it was as if everything in front of him had been Transfigured into the building in which he'd transformed while he was at the carnival. The dank, still air filled his lungs, and he could smell a coppery, salty sweetness… _Blood. Lots of it. All around me… _He could feel the stone of the floor against his hands, and it was cool and comforting… _But it's hard. It's hard, and I don't want to lie here anymore… _And he couldn't breathe, because his chest hurt…

"Lupin!"

_Parsons is coming, and he'll heal me, but only so he can do this to me again next month…_

"Damn it, Lupin! Look at me!"

A rough hand shook him and he winced, knowing that every move would set off explosions of agony throughout his body. _Can't breathe. It'll hurt more._

"_Fuck!"_

Suddenly rough, calloused fingers were gripping his jaw, turning his face…

He recoiled greatly at the sight of the grizzled man with an oversized eye that was whirling violently, and he felt himself fall, and he hit the floor with a loud and painful thump… _How could I fall? I was on the ground already… Wasn't I?_

"Remus! Snap out of it, boy!"

He blinked. The man now leaning over him wasn't Parsons. He was… He was… Who was he again?

"Come on, Remus!" It was an order, but there was a pleading note to it. Moody didn't plead.

_Moody_.

Remus sucked in a deep, sobbing breath. Reality crashed around him, and for a moment, he was completely blind and deaf to everything but the knowledge that he wasn't in the carnival. He was in Moody's kitchen. They had been talking about the carnival…

He curled into a ball, putting his trembling hands over his face as he fought to put some kind of reasoning to what had happened. _I was there. For a while, I was there. It was happening all over again. How could that happen? How could I lose control again? It's been months…_

He became aware of Moody's hand gripping his shoulder tightly and he whispered, "I'm sorry."

The Auror actually sighed with relief, something that he'd never done in Remus' hearing before. "It's all right. I'm going to get you something to drink. Stay here."

Remus didn't think he could move if he wanted to. _How could I have thought I was there? How could that happen?_

"Here. Let's get you up." But Moody didn't mean back up in the chair. Not yet. He helped Remus sit up until his back was propped against a cabinet, and then handed him a mug. The young man expected it to be water or coffee, but as he lifted it to his lips, he smelled Firewhiskey. He shot a questioning glance at Moody, who was sipping some of the same liquid from his own glass.

"Drink up," the Auror ordered, dragging his sleeve across his mouth after he'd finished the drink in two quick swallows.

The Firewhiskey burned, as it always did, but it brought warmth and life back into Remus' limbs. "What happened to me?" he asked shakily.

The older man didn't answer right away. He stared at Remus for a moment and then gestured for him to finish the liquor. As Remus handed the mug back to him, he said, "Sometimes, when someone's been through something — difficult and painful, certain things will set that person off to remembering that time. It happens."

"But something like this —" Remus swallowed hard, "— hasn't happened for months."

"Lad, you went through hell for three months. You think you're going to just forget that in a matter of days or weeks or months?"

The younger man closed his eyes at the thought of going through this again.

"It's normal," Moody reassured him quietly. "It happens."

Remus shivered.

"Ready to get back up in the chair?"

It shocked the werewolf how weak he was, that he needed to rely so much on Moody to get back on his feet and then into the chair. The newspaper was already folded back up and at the other end of the table.

"I'm sorry," Remus apologised again. He was thankful that he didn't hear panic in his own voice now.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Moody told him. "Someone should've warned you — I should've done it — that this might happen at some point."

"And it might happen again," Remus said, trying to make it sound like a question, but failing miserably.

"It might," Moody affirmed.

"At any time."

"Well, whenever something strongly reminds you of the carnival or Parsons," Moody told him.

"Shit," Remus whispered, holding his head in his hands.

"Pretty much," Moody agreed.

**8:35 a.m.**

Whatever it was that had happened to Remus had sapped the strength from him completely. Moody helped him back up to his room, where he fell asleep almost immediately.

"Gods, Moony. I've never seen ol' Moody so worked up."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Temper, Moony, temper! Have you had your rabies shots?"

"Screw you."

"Why are you so mad at me?" The dark-haired young man seemed honestly puzzled.

"You betrayed James and Lily. You killed Peter and a bunch of Muggles. You got yourself thrown into Azkaban, leaving me alone, and now you're picking at Moody, who, I might point out, is the only person who honestly gives a flying fuck about me right now."

Sirius chuckled. "I'd say Dumbledore might have something to say about that."

"He's got something to say about everything," Remus muttered, repeating something that the Animagus had often said years ago.

The chuckle became barking laughter. "So, you _did_ pay attention to things I said."

"Only the important things. Which meant I ignored a good eighty-five percent of whatever came out of your mouth."

"You're cruel, Moony. To think you ignored some of my most brilliant and creative musings."

"Act of self-preservation, Padfoot."

There was a moment while the dark-haired young man stared intently at the werewolf. "Are you all right, Moony?"

"Gods, Pads, I've had a bloody awful morning and feel like shit right now. How could I bloody be all right?"

Hands went up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry." And then softly, "_Will_ you be all right?"

Remus sighed. "I hope so, Padfoot. I hope so."

"If I weren't here, I'd go and hex that bastard Parsons until he had two extra legs and nothing between them, if you know what I mean."

"He might be going there," Remus told him. "The Ministry has pressed charges against them, and Moody says they'll probably spend some time there."

Sirius smiled wickedly. "Then I'll have to change into Padfoot and rip their throats out for you. How's that?"

"Why would you bother, Pads? After what you've done to James and Lily and Peter, how could you even think of doing something nice for me?"

The other young man huffed in annoyance. "I told you, I didn't do it."

"Then who _did_?"

There was a long pause, and then Sirius said, very seriously, "Just remember this, Moony: Things are never what you think they are. You'd know that more than anyone." There was a flash of white teeth, as the Animagus smiled. "You need more? You really shouldn't. The answer is just a fingertip away."

**Friday, 21 March—11:24 a.m.**

The sidewalks and streets were still slushy, wet, and slippery from what everyone was hoping would be the last snowfall of winter. Remus had many reasons to thank McGonagall for her Christmas present to him as he went slogging down the streets, peering in windows for placards advertising the need for employees. The fact that this was not a popular shopping season and the weather was not conducive for shoppers made it a difficult atmosphere to find a job.

As he turned a corner and winced at the blast of cold air that assaulted him, he noticed a ragged piece of yellow cardboard in the shop window next to him. He glanced up and noted the name of the store —"Barney's" — and took a closer look in the window. He couldn't tell what was sold here. It could have been a pawnshop. It could have been just used goods.

Shrugging inwardly and telling himself it didn't matter as long as it wasn't illegal, Remus pushed the heavy door open. An electronic buzzing sounded somewhere in a room behind the back wall of the shop.

A man's voice called out "Be there'n a minute!"

It gave Remus a chance to look around at the variety of things. It was definitely a pawnshop, judging by the signs behind the counter that announced the terms of transaction. An occasional half-hearted postcard-sized piece of paper told customers that stolen items were not welcome. Four huge signs mounted in obvious sight warned that only cash was welcome, that cheques and credit cards were not acceptable.

There was an amazing quantity of knives, several guitars, and inside the glass counters, jewellery sparkled cheerfully in the gloominess. Furniture of all sorts cluttered the small space, making it impossible to move in any direction without bumping into something. Pewter and silver pieces were strewn haphazardly around the room. And, strangely enough, a stuffed moose's head looked down upon it all with a rather whimsical expression.

Remus smiled at it. _Sirius would have bought that and presented it to James and Lily as a wedding gift._ He was almost positive of it, considering that Sirius _had_ purchased a pair of stuffed gnomes that had been charmed to sing several different songs that were popular at the time. In harmony.

An older man, close to Moody's age if appearance counted for anything, suddenly emerged from the other room and shuffled to the counter closest to Remus. He was tall, lean, and his face was heavily-lined as if he'd spent many years working out-of-doors. "Whatcha got?" he asked Remus harshly.

Remus shook his head. "Nothing. I saw your card." He pointed toward the window.

The man eyed him sharply. "Need a job, do you?"

Remus nodded, biting his tongue to keep the words, "No, I just wanted to tell you I saw the card," inside his mouth.

"Got any experience with pawnshops?"

"Just in selling," Remus admitted.

The man asked him about any sales experience he might have, heard the list of Remus' last four employers, and then said, "You're a bloody teacher. Why're you here wanting a job?"

The werewolf swallowed hard. _First lie._ "I was away for a few months. When I came back, the schools had already started their newest semesters. I haven't been able to find a position yet."

"So, you plan on leaving when the new school year starts?"

"Maybe. It all depends on if a school is interested in hiring me."_ Wishful thinking, but not a lie…_

The man nodded. "I'll have to tell my brother, Barney, about you. This is his place. He's got final say in who gets hired and all."

Remus nodded.

"Fact is, you're the fourth person to stop in and ask for the job," the man went on. "Didn't like the looks of the first two, and the third was a thief if I've ever seen one. He tried to nick the spoons out of that box there," the man pointed to a small chest that was specially designed to hold silver tableware, "while I was asking him questions. I think he got away with two spoons, though."

One grizzled eyebrow rose and Remus felt himself the subject of a suspicious glare. "You're not a thief, are you? No criminal record or anything, right?"

"No, not at all," Remus assured him. _The Ministry would have killed me if I had committed a crime._

The man put a pen on the counter and began rummaging for a blank piece of paper. "You got any problems with working late on Friday or Saturday nights?"

"Not usually."

"Weekends are always busy. And Mondays. Too many people get in over their heads over the weekends. Spend too much time at the races or on football games…" The man mumbled a few other things that Remus didn't hear and then placed a piece of notebook paper on the counter. "Here. Write your name, address, and phone number there for me…"

"I don't have a phone number," Remus told him. "I'm living with a friend who's a bit unconventional. He won't have one in the house." _Again, not a lie. Moody _is_ unconventional._

"Can't blame him," the man grunted. "Wish I could toss mine out the window sometimes. How am I supposed to get in touch with you, then?"

"I'll stop by tomorrow," Remus promised, writing his name and Moody's address on the paper.

"'Lupin'? What is that, Spanish?"

"French."

"Gawd, don't tell my brother that. He hates the French."

"Not a word," Remus said, smiling. _Wonder how he feels about werewolves? _He straightened, slid the paper across the glass surface to the other man then looked up at the moose. "That's the most interesting thing I've seen in a pawnshop."

"I call him Maurice," the man said, without looking up at the animal. Instead, he was peering at Remus. "You okay? You look a little peaky."

_Considering the full moon is in four days, I'm not surprised._ "I'm fine." Suddenly Remus felt compelled to add, "I guess I should tell you that I do tend to miss a couple of days every so often. I've got… a condition, I guess you'd call it."

"'A condition'? What kind of condition? Heart? Stomach?"

"No, not at all. It's — blood-related." _Not a lie. Merely an understatement._

The man reared back slightly. "You don't have that AIDS thing, do you?"

"No!" Remus rushed to reassure him. "It's not fatal. It's just something that makes me tired sometimes and makes me feel like I've got the flu or something." _All right, that's lie number two._

"Like anaemia or something? My brother's got something like that. What's it called?" the man asked, his eyes bright with curiosity now.

_Should I? He's a Muggle. What are the chances he's heard the proper term? _Remus took a deep breath then said, "Lycanthropy."

The man froze. For the longest moment, there was complete silence in the store, and every instinct in Remus' head was screaming at him: _Run! Run! Get OUT!_

"You're a werewolf?" the man asked.

**Yes, yes, I know; another cliffhanger. Sorry. If it makes you feel better, you'll only have to put up with me for another 3 chapters -- and an epilogue. Does that make you feel better now? **


	29. Chapter 28:Redemption

A/N: Hugs to Zarathustra for her hard work in getting my commas and grammar under control. Hugs to SortingHat47 for expecting me to do my best--you're tough, but you're usually right!

Thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed and put this story on alert! I truly appreciate it. Taigne, just wanted to tell you I wish I had your email address so I could respond to your reviews. Thanks for your encouragement!

Warning: More centaurs in this chapter. I am now completely insane because of the centaur-speak. And just so you know, I did actual research for the names of these centaurs:  
Aequitas: equality; fairness  
Celeritas: quickness; swiftness  
Justicia: justice; equitability  
Dulcidine: sweetly; charmingly    
And just in case you hadn't figured it out, Libertas means liberty; freedom. (Yes, it was rather ironic.)

Disclaimer: All the centaurs that drove me insane are mine. Moody and Lupin, however, are not. They belong to JKRowling.

**Chap. 28: Redemption**

**Friday, 21 March, 1985—6:07 p.m.**

When Moody entered the house, the first thing he noticed was that water droplets were sliding down the soft leather of Lupin's jacket, which was hanging on a peg near the front door. As a light rain had only been falling for the past hour, he theorised that either the younger man had been out doing some shopping or had just got in from his job search.

Hoping that Remus had returned late from the job hunt because he had actually got one, Moody stumped into the kitchen.

"Hope you don't mind spaghetti," the werewolf said as soon as the Auror came into the kitchen. "I just got back a few minutes ago, and didn't have time to do anything else."

Moody waved a hand at him dismissively. "Sounds good." He went to the icebox and tugged at the door to open it. "Want a butter—" The rest of his question was lost as he realised the icebox was completely filled. He looked over at Remus, who was busily preparing a salad. "Lupin? Did you kidnap a house-elf? Or rob a grocery store?"

The younger man glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "Neither. I got a job today. Of sorts."

The Auror pulled the butterbeer out of the icebox and sat down at the table. "That's good news, I suppose. Where?"

Briefly, Remus told him about the pawnshop, and the conversation with the older man. "It turns out that Josiah has a brother who's a werewolf," Remus said, who hadn't paused in his dinner preparations.

"How did you get around to talking about that?" wondered Moody.

Remus smiled. "I was warning him that sometimes I'd have to ask for days off because I'd get sick because of a blood disorder. And then I told him I had lycanthropy."

"You did _what?_" The butterbeer bottle came down onto the table with a thump so hard that the liquid splattered in all directions.

"I didn't think he'd know what it meant," Remus said with a self-conscious smile. "But he did. And then he told me his brother was bitten thirty years ago. Barney's wife died soon after, but with Josiah's help, Barney was able to keep his business. Josiah minds the shop when Barney's not well. And now that he's almost sixty years old, he's — not well a lot." Lupin's voice got very quiet as he continued, "He's a Muggle, so he doesn't have access to the potions that help on the day after a transformation. He's crippled and arthritic and —" He broke off, pretending to concentrate on grating cheese over their salad bowls.

Moody could tell by the hunching of the younger man's shoulders that it was extremely difficult to talk about. He knew why. He had seen older werewolves — men and women who had somehow lived through years of heartbreak and struggle, joblessness and homelessness, and sometimes even the loss of family and love — who had become physically twisted and deformed because of the stress on a werewolf's body. No body was designed to handle the monthly torture of bones breaking, muscles shifting, and the mind of murderous intent that was forced upon it. And the older one got, the harder it was to take.

The image of Remus, twisted and helpless, rose to the forefront of his mind and he shoved it viciously aside…

The Auror cleared his throat as forcefully as he had cleared his mind. "Did you get the job in the pawnshop then?"

Remus chuckled, though it was forced. "Actually, no. Josiah needed someone to mind the store while he's helping Barney during the days before and after the full moon. Obviously, I'm not the right one for that. But," he said quickly, "I nipped over to Diagon Alley and picked up some pain potions for Barney, as well as some other things that help me. I found out that Josiah and Barney had been travelling to Josiah's farm in the country for every full moon. It's hard for them to get there, because of the pain that Barney has. So, I set up some wards in the ground floor of their shop to hold the wolf and make the Ministry happy, tossed up some Silencing Charms and then laid out some cushioning charms on the floor and walls. I'm to go back every month and strengthen them. They'll pay me the Muggle equivalent of five Galleons each time."

"The Ministry requires werewolves to transform a fair distance from a residence. The ground floor of the shop can't possibly be far enough away," Moody said thoughtfully.

"It isn't really, but Barney says they haven't even sent him a notice for his annual physical for the past three years. When he's asked them about it, they've had him come in, but they know he's really not capable of breaking out on his own now." He began bringing the food to the table. "Barney's wolf is as crippled as he is."

"So you've got the job of setting the wards and all for them each month?" Moody made himself useful by getting plates and cutlery.

"Yes, and for another werewolf that they know. She usually goes to the Ministry, but was relieved when I told her I could set something up for her."

"If the Ministry knows she goes there monthly, she may want to warn them ahead of time that she's had the warding done so they don't send someone after her," Moody said warningly.

He heard Remus sigh slightly. "I told her that," the younger man said in a low voice. "Fortunately, her house is right outside the city limits and there's enough room between her garage and the neighbours that she won't be violating the distance restraints dictated by the Ministry."

They began to eat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. "You didn't need to fill the icebox," Moody said finally.

The younger man stiffened slightly, but replied with a lopsided smile, "It's only right, don't you think? Since you spent so much on the ingredients for the potions that made me well and all?"

Moody had been an Auror for too long to let Remus' deduction faze him. "I didn't tell you I had done that because I didn't want you to feel obligated to pay me back."

"I know, I just —" Remus stopped, took a deep breath and started again. "I had a sort of understanding with James and Peter and — Sirius. I'd pay when I could, and if I couldn't, I'd make it up to them later." He shrugged. "It seemed to work, more or less."

Moody had suspected an agreement of that nature had existed between the young men, but this was the first time he'd heard it spoken aloud. He could only guess at the pride that was being swallowed right now for Remus to explain the situation. And he could only feel honoured by the fact that Remus thought he'd be willing to be part of the same sort of arrangement. The lecture on how Remus couldn't get out on his own if he was hell-bent on paying Moody back would have to wait.

"That's fine, then," he grunted, reaching for the bowl of spaghetti. He changed the subject abruptly to tell Remus about a case he'd been working on, involving a stuffed toy bear, some Dark magic, and a teenager with a grudge against his stepfather.

**Saturday, 22 March — 3:41 a.m.**

"Wolf."

The tone tonight was disapproving, as it had been for the past week.

"I know, I know," Remus said with a sigh. "I haven't done what you asked me to do."

Libertas reared slightly, bringing his forefeet back down hard enough to send fragments of tanbark everywhere.

"I'll go after the full moon," the werewolf said. "Give me a day or two to recover, and then I'll go."

"Why do you fear this?" Libertas demanded.

Remus stared at him in disbelief. "Have you met centaurs? They're not exactly easy to talk to, especially when you're giving them bad news."

"You know not of what you speak. When a tree falls, do you mourn? You rejoice in the knowing that the tree will now provide others with food as it decays; it provides sanctuary for animals and insects. You become aware that there is new light, because the sun shines where branches once waved, and there are new shadows to be discovered. There is no mourning without the joy of knowing that there is more beyond the life that was lost."

"And then I lose my life when I tell them I took yours."

"You worry needlessly."

"I _killed_ you! How could they forgive that?"

"You worry needlessly."

"Says the one who's already dead."

"Keep your eyes on the stars, wolf. You will find your way through this."

"You know, I really hate that you keep calling me 'wolf.'"

"I know." The centaur grinned broadly.

Remus stared at him. "Are you _teasing_ me? You, a centaur — It's impossible."

"You have spent your life with humans — with wizards — who will say it is impossible for certain things to happen. You should think like a centaur, and believe that all things are possible."

**Saturday, 29 March—11:18 a.m.**

Remus stood at the edge of the forest, his head tilted to the side, his thumb lightly rubbing his bottom lip.

A large oak loomed over him to his left. A graceful birch with a smaller evergreen pressed against its side marked the right side of the trail upon which he was standing. This was the forest that he'd seen in his dreams. This was the Mersey Forest where he had come with his dad one time to catch an escaped Snidget. This was the forest in which Libertas had been born and from which he had run away.

And somewhere in its depths, Libertas' family still lived. Hopefully.

Remus adjusted the backpack dangling by one strap from his shoulder and took a deep breath. "Stop pissing about, Lupin," he muttered. He forced himself to move past the birch and into the shadows cast by the early spring sun through the branches.

Early in the year as it was, the underbrush wasn't as tangled and impenetrable as it might have been if it had been late summer. It was fairly easy to move through the forest, to move off the path in order to search for hoofprints in the mud. The only impressions seemed to be those made by small deer, though he saw no other sign of them either.

_Where in the world could a centaur herd be hiding? This forest isn't _that _big._

And yet, two hours of searching seemed to offer no more clues as to how he could find anything bigger than a squirrel or a hedgehog.

He stopped to rest, seating himself on a fallen elm and dropping his backpack on the forest floor. It was only two days after the full moon and, though the transformation had gone better than he could have expected, he was starting to feel the strain.

He was shaking slightly as he unwrapped and ate the ham sandwiches he had prepared for himself earlier that morning. But the food seemed to help, because his hand was steady when he washed it down with a butterbeer. He had brought a Strengthening Potion, but decided not to take it yet. He might need it later if the search went on much longer.

He tossed his garbage back into his pack and stood up, taking a deep breath as he did. There was the slightest scent, something familiar, something — equine... He froze in the act of slinging the pack up on his shoulder, feeling his hackles rise, the prickling sense that someone was watching him. Slowly, he turned.

_I should have known that this wasn't about me finding them; it was about them finding me…_

Two centaurs were standing perhaps three small dragon-lengths away. Both had spears in their hands.

Remus slowly lowered his pack to the ground again and held his palms out so they could see he had nothing in them. "I know I don't belong here," he said, in lieu of an actual greeting. "But I am seeking one of your kind."

One of the centaurs, a young male with a dappled grey body pawed at the earth almost angrily. "And what would you want with one of our kind, man? Are you in need of fortune-telling? You need to know about romance, or wealth, or power?"

Remus smiled gently. "No. I would never expect a centaur to lower himself for such a base purpose. I come with a message. No — with news."

"What news would you have that would possibly interest us?" the other centaur asked. He was slightly older than the grey, and his hide was a bright chestnut. Remus couldn't help but think of Libertas.

"I have news of one of your kind," Remus said, licking his lips nervously and feeling his heart beat a little faster.

"Then tell us the news and be gone," the chestnut snapped.

Remus shook his head. "I would speak to the sire or dam of Libertas."

The grey reared slightly in surprise. The chestnut stood frozen to the ground, but his countenance darkened. "What do you know of Libertas?" he demanded, shooting a disgusted look at his companion.

"That is for his sire and his dam to know," Remus said, forcing himself to speak calmly, determined not to let them see how uneasy their reaction had made him.

The two centaurs exchanged glances. The younger one said something quietly to the chestnut who gave a quiet reply and then they looked back at Remus.

The chestnut took several steps toward him. "We would know your name, wizard."

Remus told them and then waited with bated breath as the chestnut drew even closer.

The centaur stopped suddenly and adjusted the grip on his spear, tilting the tip just a little more toward Remus. "You are a wolf," he stated, sounding slightly alarmed.

"I am," Remus assented.

"Yet you are a wizard." It was not a question. It was a statement of fact by the grey.

"I am," Remus said again.

The two centaurs again looked at each other, and something nonverbal passed between them. They both turned and walked away from Remus without another word.

"Wait!" Remus called.

The chestnut didn't stop, though he did look back over his shoulder. "Stay, wolf." And then they disappeared behind a cluster of rhododendrons.

Remus exhaled noisily. "No doubt they're related to you, Libertas," he muttered, remembering all the dreams that he'd had in which Libertas would walk away or disappear without explanation.

He sat back down on the log and stared in the direction that the centaurs had gone. He wanted to follow them, but he'd been given his orders, and stay he would. Truth be told, he'd do nearly anything, as long as it didn't jeopardise his purpose.

He waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, he stood and began pacing back and forth, rubbing his tense neck muscles. The chilly breeze that had been playing among the trees had become even cooler, and he noticed that clouds were starting to gather in the south. _How much longer do I wait? They're centaurs. They're probably arguing about what to do with me. I could be here for days before they decide whether to talk to me or spear me._

He was starting to feel shaky again, so he sat down and started to paw through the backpack for the Strengthening Potion.

A twig cracked, and he glanced up quickly as the scent of equine bodies reached his nostrils.

The chestnut and dapple-grey had returned along with a young female centaur whose hide was a dark bay with shockingly bright white feet. An arrow was already nocked against the string of the bow that she was carrying.

They stopped when they saw him look up, but then the chestnut stepped forward, away from the others. "I am Celeritas," He tilted his head back toward the younger centaurs. "He is Kiernan. She is Justicia." You will follow him. Justicia and I will follow." He hesitated and then said, "Aequitas is the sire of Libertas, and we are taking you to him. Dulcidine, mate of Aequitas and dam of Libertas, is no more. Aequitas is what you might call an elder in our herd. You will give him the respect he deserves."

Remus nodded. "I understand."

"Come then, wolf."

For twenty minutes, Remus followed Kiernan's spotted hindquarters and black tail through the forest. They rarely followed a trail, and once, when they did, Remus glanced back to see Justicia wiping away any traces of hoofprints with a leafy branch. _Well, that certainly explains a lot…_

But suddenly, Kiernan stopped, and Remus stumbled to a halt, just managing not to bump into the centaur's tail.

"Have you brought him?"

Remus peered around Kiernan, looking for whoever had spoken, and his eyes widened. _Six, ten, thirteen… Gods! There have to be twenty centaurs here!_

Celeritas suddenly moved, grabbing Remus' arm and pulling him forward until the werewolf stood squarely within a half-circle of centaurs. "This is the wolf, Remus Lupin."

_Shit!_ Not one of the centaurs looked friendly.

An older centaur stood exactly in the middle of the half-circle. His coat was chestnut, shot through with white hairs of age, as was the brown hair on the top of his human head. His arms were folded across his chest, and a scowl twisted his lips. But there was no mistaking the fact that the scowl and the eyes and the set of the jaw were very familiar.

"You are Aequitas, the sire of Libertas?" Remus asked quietly, knowing the answer already.

"You are a guest, wolf. You will answer our questions," the centaur said sharply.

Remus bowed his head in acquiescence and waited.

"What news have you brought of Libertas?"

Remus raised his head and squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "I came to tell the family of Libertas that he'd been imprisoned for the past five years."

Mumbling broke out among the centaurs. _Angry_ mumbling.

"And you know this — how?" the older centaur demanded.

"I was a prisoner as well, though only for a few months," Remus said.

"What manner of place is this, that would imprison a centaur?" asked a centaur next to Libertas' sire. "And sun-sickened enough to hold a man-wolf?"

"A desperate place," Remus said, clasping his hands firmly behind him. He was too used to putting his hands in his pockets, and he feared if he tried to do that now, a spear or arrow would find its mark before he would have the chance to explain it was habit: not that he was reaching for a wand or other weapon. "It was a carnival: a place to exhibit various animals and creatures for the amusement of humans."

"Ask the wolf, Aequitas, how it is that he is here with news of Libertas, but he did not bring Libertas himself," Justicia suddenly demanded, her green eyes glittering with fury.

Remus looked up at Aequitas, realising that the moment of truth was now here. And the centaurs were not any happier than they had been.

_If I get out of here with only one hole in my hide, it'll be a bloody miracle._

The stallion's gaze was so sharp, it nearly pierced Remus through. "Where _is_ Libertas?"

"Libertas —" Remus took a deep breath, and then used the words he remembered from his conversation with Laureola: "His star has fallen."

There were gasps from all around him, but he kept his eyes on the centaur in front of him. There was no sign that Aequitas was disturbed by the news until the centaur spoke again. His voice sounded tired.

"What was the manner of his falling?"

Remus swallowed hard. "I had helped him escape, but the men at the carnival caught up to him and shot him."

There was movement as the centaurs around him agitatedly pranced or muttered to each other. Only Aequitas and Celeritas remained still, as if carved from polished wood.

"Those men – killed him?" Aequitas asked, seeking verification.

"Not — exactly," Remus admitted. Inside his head, James was telling him to shut up, that they didn't need to know the exact truth; Peter was groaning. Sirius' voice, however, was surprisingly calm: "Steady on, Moony. You can do this."

"He was dying," Remus continued, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the one who looked very much like an older version of Libertas. "The men asked me to heal him. I have some – knowledge of taking care of — others. There was only one thing I could do." He took a deep breath again and said the words, wondering if he was condemning himself to death, "I gave him mercy."

There was a moment as his words sank in, and then chaos erupted around Remus. In the midst of it, rough hands grabbed him and threw him to the ground. His head cracked against a branch or stone lying on the forest floor, stunning him so he couldn't move, except to close his eyes as he saw the spear point descending —

"NO!" There was the sound of hooves near his head, and bits of mulch and dirt pelted his face. He winced and kept his eyes closed.

Two males were arguing, and it sounded like they were standing right over him. He slowly opened his eyes, regretting it as he realised that the darkness over him was a centaur's body, and the stick he could see out of the corner of his right eye was the shaft of a spear driven into the ground only inches from his head. He closed his eyes again as a hoof thumped into the ground next to his left ear.

_Some Gryffindor you are, Lupin. Afraid of homicidal horses…_

"I would hear the rest of this story!"

"He _killed_ him, Aequitas!"

"He gave him mercy!"

"He killed your son! He killed my brother!"

_Brother?!_

"You are hasty to judgment, Celeritas! I _will_ hear the wolf's words!"

"I would hear the wolf's words also!" cried a girl's voice.

No, Remus thought. Not a girl. Justicia.

"As the young sapling must yield to the ancient voice of the wind," came another voice, stoic, strong, "you, Celeritas, must yield to your father's will."

There was silence and Remus felt a sharp smack against his arm. His eyes snapped open involuntarily as he reached to rub the abused bicep.

"Get up," Celeritas snarled.

The two centaurs took a step back as he staggered to his feet. His head swam dizzyingly, and he fell back down to his knees.

"He bleeds," Justicia said bluntly.

His stomach wasn't all that happy about the situation either, and he struggled to keep his food from making a reappearance. "If I could have my pack," he whispered, keeping his teeth firmly together, and swallowing hard, "I've got something that will help."

Kiernan picked up his backpack and opened it. "What should I look for, wolf?"

"A small vial — _Shit_," Remus whispered the vulgarity. His head was thumping with every word, and it was amazing to him that he could speak coherently. "Blue potion," he added quickly, pressing his palms to his head.

A moment later, the vial appeared in his peripheral vision and he took it with a mumble of gratitude. He hadn't expected to use the potion for healing that he had brought, but now he was glad he had thought twice about it. The pain inside and on the right side of his head receded quickly, though there was still blood smeared in his hair. It would have to wait until he was finished, however.

"Tell me," Aequitas ordered once Remus had got to his feet.

It was only two words, but there was an ocean of meaning within them. So, Remus started at the beginning, from the moment that he had first realised that 'Bertie' was a centaur to the moment that he had ended Libertas' suffering at the centaur's plea for mercy. He stopped, uncertain of whether to continue or not, but when Aequitas didn't say anything, he went on.

"I've had dreams since then, that Libertas wanted me to come here." Remus offered a lopsided smile. "He seemed quite adamant about it, really."

"You have dreamt of him?" Aequitas repeated, his eyebrows rising slightly.

Remus nodded. He thought about telling the centaur stallion that his son had been bloody irritating about the whole thing, but decided that was not a wise choice.

The elder centaur took a step toward him. "And you came here, with his blood on your hands, to tell us this story?"

Celeritas was adjusting the grip on his spear, but Remus spared him only the quickest sidelong glance. "Yes," he replied. "It seemed only right to let those who loved him know that he was gone."

"We have heard his story," Celeritas said harshly. "By his own admission, he slew my brother. Justice should be served!" He slammed the butt of the spear into the ground. As if the centaur's vehemence had summoned it, rain began to fall in small, pelting drops.

Several voices merged together angrily, calling for 'justice.' Remus could only assume that meant nothing good for him.

Kiernan hesitantly came forward to stand next to Celeritas. "But if justice is to be served, should we not look for the men who imprisoned and shot Libertas? This wolf," he motioned to Remus, "did nothing but ease Libertas' suffering."

"We have no voice to say that Libertas was dying but the wolf's," Celeritas snapped.

"That is not true," Justicia claimed loudly. "We have the voice of Libertas himself."

"How can you say that?" Libertas' brother asked disbelievingly. "Has the voice of Libertas drifted on the air, through the leaves and branches? Has Libertas somehow communicated through the singing of the birds, or the chattering of the squirrels?" He chuckled humourlessly. "No. He has not. He has fallen, Justicia, and the creature that destroyed him is before us now!"

"She is right," Aequitas suddenly said quietly, stilling Celeritas immediately. "Wolf, you say Libertas came to you in your dreams and told you to come to us."

"Yes," Remus said. He dared not say any more, because he had no idea where Aequitas was going with this line of questioning.

"Libertas does not hold this wolf at fault," Aequitas announced.

"How can you say that?" Celeritas demanded.

"Your words are as quick as your name," admonished a centaur who had spoken earlier. "You do not give yourself time to reason. Can the secrets of the stars be discerned in a matter of minutes? No. You would do well to remember that, young Celeritas."

"The sun pierces clouds and the fog fades," Aequitas said. "Can you not feel the sun? Can you not understand the message that was sent to us by _my_ son, your brother?"

Remus had to admit he felt as confused as Celeritas looked at that moment.

Justicia tossed her head, flinging her rain-dampened hair over her back and exposing her naked breasts. "The clouds of Venus are not as dense!" she said disdainfully. "The sun of truth touches you, Celeritas, and you refuse to be warmed by it. The wolf brings the truth with him. He brings the sun's warmth, which should burn through your doubts."

Aequitas actually smiled. "Would the wolf have come if he were guilty? He would be moon-mad to come here if he had killed Libertas in cold blood. He says Libertas sent him. Would Libertas send him to us for justice? No. Libertas would send us to _him_, knowing he'd never come to us."

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he was following the centaur's rationale.

"The storm of guilt would have clouded his mind and kept Libertas from reaching him," another centaur was saying. "The wolf's presence here means that he is only here seeking redemption."

"Redemption is impossible without atonement," Celeritas snorted. "He should pay for my brother's life with his own life!"

"I nearly did," Remus muttered, not expecting to be heard over the noise created by the centaurs at Celeritas' words.

"Then now is the time to prove it," Justicia suddenly whispered in his ear. "Prove to us, wolf, that you suffered for the death of Libertas, and all will be forgiven."

He shivered as much from her words as from the rain. "How can I possibly prove it to anyone's satisfaction?" Remus asked breathlessly.

"If Libertas has come to you, you have already proven it to _his_ satisfaction," Justicia replied.

Remus stared into the green eyes, and then took a deep breath. Slowly, keeping his hands where the centaurs could see them at all times, he lowered himself to the now-damp ground and began unlacing his left boot. Slowly, all voices died out as Remus removed the boot and sock, and then rolled his pant leg up to his calf.

The dark bay filly sidestepped, allowing the centaurs to see the thick, red scarring that encircled Remus' ankle.

"I have seen what silver does to a wolf," Aequitas remarked. "This was intentional?"

"This was part of the punishment given to me for helping Libertas escape Parsons' cages," Remus said. He held up his right hand. "Parsons smashed my hand, too, but a very talented healer took care of it."

Justicia suddenly grabbed his hand and allowed a dirty finger to trace over the thickened, pale lines on his palm. "There is scarring there, if any should doubt…"

No one said a word. And for a long moment, no one moved. Then slowly, all eyes went to Aequitas, and Remus felt his heart thump a little harder.

"I am satisfied," Aequitas pronounced, and he made a dismissive gesture at Remus. "Set the wolf free so he may return to his – kind."

Immediately, several centaurs began to either turn or back away as if, now having heard Aequitas' verdict, there was no reason for them to remain. But, over the sounds of pattering rain, cracking twigs and shuffling underbrush, a voice was heard…

"NO!" yelled Celeritas. "I demand that the wolf be made to pay for the murder of my brother!"

A few centaurs continued moving away. Others stopped, turning to watch the young chestnut stallion approach his sire almost threateningly.

Aequitas shook his head. "I understand your desire for justice, but the wolf is not to blame."

Celeritas bared his teeth, seemingly unable to control his anger enough to vocalise an argument.

"Think, Celeritas. According to what we've heard today, twice — _twice _— Libertas trusted this wolf enough to ask him to do something important. If Libertas trusted the wolf, with his death and then with his memory, should we not also trust the wolf?"

The younger centaur's shoulders and tail began to droop.

"If it is justice you seek," Aequitas continued, "you must seek it against the one who imprisoned Libertas and arranged his death." He looked over at Remus. "The man's name is Parsons?"

Remus nodded just once then clarified hoarsely, "Bill Parsons. He's one of the owners of Bentley and Parsons Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures."

"The wolf should still pay," Celeritas said sullenly.

"He has," Aequitas said softly. "Now, respect your brother's wishes to help the wolf find mercy." At Remus' startled glance, he smiled. "Is that not why you came, wolf? To find mercy of another kind?"

**Well? Only two more chapters and an epilogue to go. Let me know what you think!**


	30. Chapter 29:Retribution

A/N: Thanks to Zarathustra, the beta. She forgave me even though I told her this thing would only be about 15 chapters long -- and then I stretched it out further and further... And thanks to SortingHat47, who allows me to ask 'what if' and doesn't roll her eyes -- too much. Thanks to all of you who review faithfully (and those who don't but love the story anyhow!

Disclaimer: JKRowling still holds the cards, the rights, and the money. Damn it all.

Note: Just so you know, according to several sites on the internet, there have been times when the police officers in Liverpool have been referred to as "bizzies'. The origins vary.

**Chapter 29: Retribution**

**Monday, 28 April, 1986--2:02 p.m.**

Stephen Daniels was a busy man, and ran a busy warehouse. And by 'warehouse,' he meant three large buildings that were depots for one of the many shipping companies in Liverpool. He had cargo coming in from the ships, lorries going out, and at least two hundred employees on the payroll at any time. Interruptions in his ever-growing, ever-changing schedule tended to make him slightly — irritated. As a result, he sounded somewhat less than pleased when he walked down Aisle C in Warehouse 3 and yelled, "Lupin! Where are you?"

Two men paused in their work and pointed him in the right direction, and soon, Daniels spotted his quarry. "Lupin!"

The young man stopped, steadied the crate that was balanced somewhat precariously on his shoulder, and then turned. "Yes, Mr Daniels?"

_Bloke's got no bloody business being so polite. _"Lose the crate, and get to my office."

Lupin flipped an acknowledging wave in the manager's direction, but headed for the lorry only a few more steps away. Daniels watched him for a moment, wincing at Lupin's limp. The young man had come in on Friday, but had asked to leave early. That he was ill was obvious; he had been practically grey. When he had come in this morning, he looked marginally better, but was limping. He said he had been so sick over the weekend, he had fallen down a flight of stairs. Daniels had asked if he needed more time off. In his extensive experience, working while hurt only seemed to aggravate the injury, and then more time was required to recuperate. But, Lupin had smiled and said he'd be fine.

_He's got bollocks, I'll give him that…_ Daniels shook his head and turned away. If he had even fifty men like young Johnny Lupin, he'd have this warehouse in perfect running order in no time.

His thoughts were interrupted by a forklift speeding past him. "Dammit, Corcoran, watch where the hell you're going!"

Muttering more curses under his breath, Daniels went back to his office and the man waiting there.

"He'll be here in a minute," he said to the visitor.

The other man nodded firmly, unsmilingly. "Thanks. I'll just wait for him right outside the door."

Daniels went back to his work, organising the next shipment to Manchester, pausing occasionally to cast curious glances through the window that looked out into the warehouse. _Not in uniform, but obvious enough. Wonder what the bizzies want with Lupin?_

Lupin came into view, took one look at what Daniels figured was a policeman, and halted close enough to the door that the manager could hear him. His expression was guarded, but not fearful. "Garrison?"

"Lupin. Sorry to bother you here, but…" The visitor's voice dropped so that only Lupin could hear the rest of his statement.

Whatever it was, it wasn't anything that Lupin had expected. He looked confused. "What does it matter to me if Parsons has disappeared, died, or married a hippogriff?"

_A hippogriff? What the hell's a hippogriff?_

The cop that Lupin had called Garrison was explaining something very quietly, and as he spoke, Lupin's face got whiter.

"Hells, Terry!" he suddenly exclaimed, running one hand over the back of his head. "What am I supposed to do? The Capture Unit will be after me the minute they —"

"No!" Garrison said firmly. "There's nothing to question you about! Besides, Moody will take care of them…"

_Capture Unit? Never heard of that division. I knew that bloody Lupin was too good to be true. _

The two men walked away from the office door, toward the front of the warehouse, and out of Daniels' hearing.

About ten minutes later, the manager looked up from his schedule with the sudden realisation that Lupin hadn't gone past the window — and was obviously not back to work yet. With a sigh, he got up and stepped out of his office, looking toward the front of the warehouse.

Lupin and Garrison were silhouetted within the frame of the open bay doors. Lupin had his hands behind his head, and for a moment, Daniels' heart stopped, thinking the man was being arrested. But then the young man lowered his arms and shrugged, palms up, as if he were at a complete loss to explain something.

The two men then stood silently for a moment, and Daniels saw Lupin's head jerk, and heard the younger man curse violently. Then he reached down and rubbed his left knee…

The phone suddenly rang, and Daniels went to answer it. When he came out of the office again, Lupin had a small bottle in his hand and, after saying something to the policeman, he drained its contents in one swallow.

_Couldn't be drugs if that Garrison's a policeman, could it? Or is Garrison dodgy? Well, no matter what, it's not happening here — _"Lupin!"

The employee turned his head quickly, obviously startled. "Sorry, Mr Daniels." He turned, handed the bottle back to Garrison and said something. They shook hands quickly, and then the policeman went on.

"What do the bizzies want with you?" Daniels asked, wording the question so that Lupin couldn't deny that Garrison really was a policeman.

"The biz— Oh." The younger man stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head to the side. "He's by way of being a friend of mine. There was a small problem and he was just letting me know I've got nothing to worry about."

The warehouse manager peered at Lupin's scarred face carefully, looking for any trace of a lie. "Well, all right, then. But I'll tell you now: I don't want any trouble brought here."

"No, sir. There won't be."

Daniels gave him one last look over. "Good. Now get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

**8:14 p.m. **

Moody let himself into the house with a touch of his wand and immediately stopped. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. And dark. The wards hadn't been touched by anyone or anything suspicious, though, and nothing had attacked him when he first had come in the door, so it could mean that Lupin just wasn't home yet. But the younger man was usually home by this time…

A note on the table told Moody that Remus had gone to pick up a few things at the market. A plate of food, kept warm by charms, was waiting for the Auror next to the message. Moody sighed as he tucked into the chicken and veggies. He was going to miss this when Lupin finally found a decent flat. Though Alastor typically liked being by himself, it was nice to come home to a meal — a good one, at that — and have someone to tell about the idiots that seemed to run rampant out beyond the walls of his house.

The sound of the front door opening and closing disturbed his quiet concentration, and after a moment, Lupin walked into the kitchen, a shopping bag clutched in each hand. His limp was quite pronounced.

"That knee still bothering you?" Moody asked, forgoing a greeting at the strained look on the young man's face.

"I've been on it too long today," Remus replied, setting the bags on the table, and pulling a chair out so he could flop down into it. "And I wasn't able to use as many charms as I would have liked. Seems like there's always someone nearby." From where he was, he was able to stretch just enough to reach the icebox and snag a bottle of butterbeer for himself. "Thanks for sending that pain potion down with Terry today."

Moody nodded in acknowledgment. "I thought you'd be needing it."

Remus opened the bottle and levitated the cap into the dustbin. "Did you find Parsons?"

The question was asked almost offhandedly, a simple four-word phrase, followed by a quick sip of butterbeer. Moody knew there was nothing casual about any of it.

"No. Don't expect to, either. I think he's scarpered off to America, trying to avoid the charges."

Remus rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "I doubt Bentley will be happy about that. Is there any chance of getting him back, if he did go back to America?"

Moody shrugged. "It's the same everywhere, I think: too many criminals, not enough everything else to catch them. I don't think they're going to go out of their way to catch a man who violated a few regulations at a carnival. So, to answer your question, no, I don't think they'll catch him unless he does something stupid."

The younger man sighed. "Is this going to cause any trouble for me?"

The Auror sat back in his chair. "Why should it? You didn't have anything to do with Parsons disappearing, did you?"

"No!" the younger man exclaimed.

"I didn't think you had. The timing was all wrong."

"The timing?" Remus cocked his head to the side questioningly. "When did he disappear?"

"The evening of the twenty-fourth."

"That was the night of the full moon."

Moody nodded. "I told you the timing was wrong."

Remus started reaching into the bags and setting the items on the table with a little more force than necessary. "Unless I escaped, ran down to Cornwall, and ate the son of a bitch."

"You didn't," the Auror said firmly. "I know that."

Remus gave him a raised eyebrow.

"First of all, you almost bloody splinched yourself coming home from work because you were so sick, and it was a bloody miracle you got out to that barn by yourself. You were in no shape to Apparate down to Cornwall before that, that's for damned sure." Moody chuckled curtly, and then he sobered and admitted, "And even though I knew your wards weren't going to break, I went out to check on you around two in the morning."

The werewolf blinked slowly. "You came out to check on me?"

The Auror shrugged. "Anyhow, I doubt you'd have had the time to run all the way to Cornwall, eat the buggering bastard, and be back in the shed before I had that look-in at two, and I sure as hell don't think you would have been capable of it after that, judging by things when I came to get you out at seven Saturday morning."

Though his scratches and bites were not much worse than what they usually were, Remus' knee had already been swollen to twice its normal size. The werewolf had said that it was an old injury that occasionally reared its ugly head, but it resisted almost any attempts of healing. As a result, he had spent the weekend on Moody's couch, reading and reapplying cooling charms to the long strip of linen he had wrapped around his knee.

"So I've got an alibi," Remus said with a snort, looking away from the Auror, and finding a label on one of the tins very interesting.

"You do," Alastor affirmed. "Besides, you don't have a motive for doing away with him."

Remus' eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Moody in disbelief. "_I_ don't have a motive?"

"You have to realise how some Aurors think, lad. You got money out of Bentley and Parsons. That means you won, more or less. If _you_ turned up dead, it'd make more sense, if only because you got their money."

"You know better."

"I said 'some' Aurors."

Remus finally smiled. "Are you going to interrogate me then? Or take me down to the Ministry for questioning?"

Moody's grin was devious. "Should I? Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"Not really, no."

"Made any large payments to any mercenaries lately?"

Remus chuckled. "If I offered a mercenary everything I have in my vault at Gringotts, he'd have a bloody coronary laughing at me."

The Auror sent his plate and tableware over to the sink with an almost negligent wave of his hand. "All joking aside, there's nothing to show that there was anything queer in his disappearance. I think he's trying to avoid Azkaban."

Remus shuddered. "Can't blame him, I suppose."

A thought went through Moody's head, and he just barely refrained from sharing it, not wanting to cause Remus pain. But, for just that one fleeting moment, he wondered what would happen if Bill Parsons and Sirius Black ever crossed paths within Azkaban's walls…

**Wednesday, 30 April — 7:10 a.m.**

Remus swore as his bootlace snapped in two. "Alastor, do you have an extra set of laces somewhere?" he called out, pulling the boot off so he could remove the broken string.

The Auror didn't answer, and the werewolf got up and went to the doorway leading into the kitchen. "Hey, Alastor, do you have a pair of bootlaces I could have?"

Moody looked up at him, a strange look on his face. "Have you read the _Prophet_ today?"

Remus stood there, confused, his fingers still busily tugging at the lace. "Just glanced through it. Why?"

"Says here that centaurs were spotted in Cornwall the night of the full moon."

"Oh?" Remus tossed the pieces of string into the dustbin and waited for the older man to make his point.

"There haven't been centaurs in Cornwall for at least four decades."

"Trying to bloody stay away from Bentley and —" Remus stopped abruptly, but what remained unspoken was crystal clear.

Moody folded the newspaper with great deliberation. "If I were you," he finally said, "I wouldn't admit to talking to anything in the Mersey Forest. In fact, I wouldn't admit to even _seeing_ anything bigger than an effing hedgehog."

Remus cocked his head to one side. "Who says I was ever in the Mersey Forest to begin with?"

The Auror glared at him for a moment, but then a smile slowly appeared. "Smart lad."

**Friday, 2 May — 7:25 p.m.**

Remus closed the door behind him and, after hanging his jacket on his customary peg, went into the kitchen. Moody was there, ladling stew into a bowl.

"You're late," he growled.

"Sorry," Remus said. "But, I've found a flat, I think."

Moody looked at him, and there was something that flashed across his face: surprise? Regret? Remus wasn't sure. "Where?"

"Liverpool. Not far from the warehouse. One of the men I work with has an aunt who has an enormous house that she's sectioned off into three flats. One of her tenants just moved out, and so I went over to talk to her."

"Nice place?"

Remus shrugged. "A little shabby, but neat." He smiled. "Much like myself, I think. It'll do for me."

Moody grunted in acknowledgement. "How soon are you planning on moving out?"

"She said she wants to repaint the walls, so she said to give her a week or two. I'm to go back next Friday and talk to her."

Moody slid the bowl across the table to him and then reached for a glass. He didn't get out the customary butterbeer, however. Instead, he reached for a bottle of firewhiskey that was sitting on the counter. "I'm glad you found something," he said. "This calls for a drink."

But before he could give the glass to Remus, the younger man saw the reason why the Auror had the firewhiskey close at hand.

A Ministry envelope lay on the counter, and Remus' name was clearly written upon it.

Moody saw his eyes focus on it. "The owl came a couple of hours ago, but I already know what it is." He held the glass of alcohol out toward Remus as he said quietly, "The annual physicals for werewolves are the first week of June."

"Bloody hell," Remus whispered.

He had always resented the appointments; they were an inconvenience and were probably intended to be so, regardless of what the Ministry said. But now, fear overwhelmed him, leaving him stunned. How could he go back there, knowing what had happened last year? They had Stunned him, interrogated him, imprisoned him. They had encouraged Carmichael to —

"For Merlin's sake, boy, sit down before you fall down!" Moody ordered sharply.

Remus blinked rapidly, his head jerking involuntarily. He was suddenly aware that at least a minute or two had passed and he was leaning heavily on the back of a chair. His fingers were clutching the wood so tightly that his hands were aching. But instead of sitting down, he straightened slightly and stuffed his fists in his pockets.

Moody seemed to know exactly what he was thinking — or feeling. "It's not going to be like last year." He set the glass of firewhiskey down on the table next to the bowl of stew.

The werewolf struggled to find words — any words. None seemed to be forthcoming, however.

"Morty Higgins came to see me today." Moody continued after a moment, turning to get some flatware from the drawer.

Realising he should say something, Remus mumbled, "Aren't you the lucky bastard, then?"

Moody snorted. "I've seen him a few times since that day at Hogwarts, and he's never said much about that day — or about you. But he made a point of coming to me today to tell me about the physicals. I think he was trying to tell me to warn you the letter was coming."

The shock was wearing off; Remus actually found his brain starting to form coherent — albeit sarcastic — remarks. "For future reference, warnings seem to work better for me if I don't see the bloody letter first."

"I meant to hide it," Moody admitted.

Remus ran his fingers through his hair. "What else did he have to say?"

"Nothing, really."

"Did he tell you which werewolf hunter is going to be there this year?"

The muscle in Moody's jaw twitched at the younger man's tone. Instead of giving a reply, he tossed the letter into the middle of the table. Momentum made it slide the rest of the way across until it was stopped by the bowl sitting right in front of Remus.

"What day do you have to go?"

Remus stared at the envelope, a furrow appearing between his lowering eyebrows. "You're bloody determined to ruin my dinner, aren't you?"

Moody stared at him, speechless, for a moment. Then suddenly, with a quick movement that brought his wand into his hand and a sharp flick, the Auror barked out, "_Evanesco_!"

The stew vanished and Remus reared back, startled. "What the —?"

"Come on, lad. Let's head to the Leaky Cauldron. We both need to get out, and honestly, the stew wasn't any good. I burned it."

And with that, the older man Vanished the rest of the stew and started for the front door.

Remus glanced back down at the envelope that was almost taunting him. Then, with a grin, he got up and quickly followed Moody.

**11:41 p.m.**

Cheers erupted as Remus thumped the shot glass upside down on the table. But almost immediately, the place quieted as he regarded the glass thoughtfully.

"Come on, Lupin, you can do it," Moody muttered encouragingly.

"How the hell did I get myself into this?" the younger man asked, swaying slightly, but keeping his eyes on the glass.

"He's a bloody Hufflepuff!" Moody hissed into his ear. "You're not going to let him win, are you? Now, come on and transfigure the fucking thing!"

Remus took a deep breath and then whispered something. The glass shook for a moment, as if resisting the werewolf's will, and then suddenly a Golden Snitch appeared in its place.

Again, the people surrounding them cheered loudly and applauded. Moody clapped Remus on the shoulder roughly.

The 'bloody Hufflepuff' raised his head from the table and glared first at the Snitch and then at Remus. "Bugger."

"Your turn, Jennings!" the Hufflepuff's friend said cheerfully.

Jennings groaned. "Eff off, Hamish. Can't —" His head slumped down to the table again, bumping another Snitch.

"You have to!" Hamish insisted, shaking him. "You're not going to let a bleedin', brainless _Gryffindor _outdrink you, are you?"

Apparently Jennings was. With Hamish's help, the Hufflepuff got the glass to his lips and drained it, but then it slipped out of his fingers and hit the floor — just five seconds before Jennings did.

Cheers and curses filled the tavern, and money exchanged hands. A small pile of coins ended up in front of Remus, including at least six Galleons.

"Not bad, eh?" Moody said, elbowing him in the ribs and nodding toward the money.

"Good thing I won," Remus commented, stuffing the coins into his pocket. "Couldn't've covered the bets if I'd've lost." His words were definitely slurry, and Moody laughed.

"Wha's funny?"

"It's been a while since I've seen you this pissed."

"Need a Sobering Charm." Remus decided, now that Hamish had dragged his friend away, leaving Remus and Moody alone at the table.

"You need another butterbeer," Moody said with a devious glint in his good eye.

"No, no," Remus held up his hand and waved it while he shook his head. "Need some —" He stopped suddenly, his attention drawn to a man standing at a table off to the side. The man was familiar — tall and burly with dark hair—but Remus' alcohol-befuddled mind couldn't make the connection quick enough to say where he'd seen the man before, much less what his name was.

"You all right?" Moody was asking.

"Yeah —" Remus glanced back at the man. For some reason, Sirius' voice was in his head, saying something about the man, something —

"Well done, mate!" A friendly slap on the back accompanied the compliment. "You won me three Galleons!"

"Then buy the man a drink to thank him for your good fortune," Moody suggested to the wizard.

"I'll do that! What're you having?"

Remus ignored the question, his attention going back to the familiar-looking man. He knew Moody was speaking, telling the man to buy Remus a butterbeer, but again, it was Sirius' voice that he actually heard.

"_Know thine enemies, Moony…"_

The man turned his head, and Remus looked into dark, hard eyes — the eyes of a werewolf hunter.

The growl deep in Remus' throat alerted Moody only a moment before Remus leapt out of the chair, knocking it over, and charged after Bernard Carmichael.

"Bloody hell, Lup —" was all that the Auror managed to get out before he realised that Remus was gone. It only took him a heartbeat to assess the situation.

Seeing that someone was coming at him with obviously dangerous intentions, Carmichael had started to run toward the door. Remus, however, would not be kept from his prey. He shoved one man out of the way, pushed another man back into a chair and, seeing a small knot of people talking right in front of him, stepped up onto a chair then onto a table to avoid them. He leapt across to the next table, startling curses out of the people sitting there, but paid them no heed. It was a simple thing then to throw himself right onto Carmichael's back, taking the man down to the floor.

Moody was an expert at getting through crowds and around obstacles to get to where the trouble was. Remus only had a chance to slam Carmichael's face into the floor twice before the Auror reached them. With the aid of a spell or two, Moody pulled the werewolf off the other man and pushed Remus back several paces. "Lupin! Stop it!"

The younger man wasn't listening to him. His teeth were bared and he was swearing and muttering words that Moody wouldn't have suspected that Remus knew. He was trying to shove Moody aside, completely oblivious to the fact that it was Alastor, so intent was he on continuing his assault on Carmichael.

"Damn it, Remus! Be reasonable!" But reason went out the door with excessive drinking, and Remus had done a lot of that tonight. Suddenly, the drinking game with the Hufflepuff seemed like a very, very bad idea.

Desperate measures being called for, Moody jabbed his wand at Remus and muttered a Sobering Charm and then an Auror's Pacification Spell. Almost instantly, the younger man stopped fighting him, though the anger still remained in the blue eyes.

_No gold in his eyes! Thank all the gods, there's no gold!_

"He just attacked me!" Carmichael was saying in disbelief and anger, pressing a handkerchief to his broken and bleeding nose. "The bloody maniac just attacked me!"

"You deserved it!" yelled Remus. "You fucking deserved to have your nose broken and more for what you did to me!"

Suddenly the man's eyes widened. "Lupin!" he whispered. It was almost a whimper.

"What? You didn't recognise me when I wasn't bloody and ripped to shreds?" Remus demanded.

Moody had to stop this now before something was said that the werewolf would regret.

"All right, everyone, go back to your tables. Remus," he grabbed the younger man's bicep tightly. "Let it go. Hear me?" He leaned closer and hissed, "For Merlin's sake, boy, all he has to do is yell for the Capture Unit! Do you want that?"

There was a long, tense moment, and then Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "No." His shoulders slumped.

"He's dangerous! He needs to be shot! If I had my —" Moody spun around quickly and shoved his wand right into the werewolf hunter's belly.

"Do you recognise me, Carmichael? I'm an Auror — name's Moody. If I were you, I'd let this go." He leaned in a little closer so that the few people still crowding around couldn't hear him. "You're lucky he didn't rip your throat out right here and now. And not only would I have let him do it, I'd have cheered him on while he did. I've got a list of things I've been waiting to charge you with, starting with kidnapping. Now, if you don't want me to go down to the Ministry tonight and dig up my very long and very detailed list, I suggest you go back to wherever you came from and forget that you've ever seen Lupin."

"But he attacked me! It's a sign that he's a danger to others and —"

"I didn't see him attacking anyone else other than you, and you damn well did deserve it. Now, get the hell out of here while I'm still being nice about this."

The man was silent for a moment, obviously considering his options. Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. I'll pretend this never happened." But then he smiled cruelly at Remus, and the Auror felt Lupin's tension rise. "But, if I hear he's ever done anything like this again, I will hunt him down like the animal he is."

"Get the fuck out!" Moody growled, accompanying his words with a shove. He wanted nothing more than to hex the man, to give Carmichael a tail, scales, and fins — and leave him flopping for breath on the floor. He didn't think he could explain it to his superiors' satisfaction, however; certainly not without getting Remus into trouble for attacking someone.

He turned around and saw that Lupin had already started back to their table. The younger man had stopped to apologise to the people whose tables he had run across, and Moody shook his head. _Who but Lupin would apologise?_

By the time they had again seated themselves at their table, Moody had a grin on his face. He waited until Remus looked at him and was certain an apology was coming. The first word had barely left Remus' mouth before Alastor interrupted him by asking, "Did you apologise to the Death Eaters you hexed?"

"What?" the younger man asked, obviously perplexed.

"You apologised to the people you shoved out of your way, you apologised to the people whose table you stepped on, you apologised to Tom for fighting in his place, you apologised to that woman for scaring the piss out of her... I'm curious now. Did you ever Stun a Death Easter and then apologise to him afterward?"

The left side of Remus' lips twitched into a half-smile. "I did apologise once. I cast a Body-Bind on a woman and she fell over and hit her head on a brick. Gave her a bloody concussion. Literally."

Moody roared with laughter. Then he eyed the bottle of butterbeer that he had been drinking from. He had left it unattended while he was pulling Lupin away from Carmichael, and anyone could have done anything to it.

Another bottle of butterbeer had arrived while they were gone: the bottle that the three-Galleon winner had bought for Remus. The werewolf was looking at it with distaste.

"You ready to leave?" Moody asked.

Lupin's relief was plain to see. "More than," he replied.

They settled their tabs with Tom and soon were walking through the streets of London. They could have Apparated home, but the cooler air was refreshing.

"I am sorry about that," Remus said, with a quick tilt of his head in the general direction from whence they'd come.

Moody shook his head. "You don't need to apologise to me. Actually, if you'd been any other man, I'd have let you pound the shit out of him."

"But I'm not any other man," Remus said with resentment.

"No, you're not," the Auror agreed.

"He could have called the Capture Unit, and I'd be dead now."

Alastor knew there was no point in denying the truth of it. "Well, maybe not yet, but you'd probably already be in Azkaban."

Remus was quiet for a moment then said lightly, "Maybe they'd put me in the same cell as Sirius."

Moody smiled. "I was thinking that it'd be interesting to see what would happen if Black and Parsons ended up together."

The younger man stumbled over an invisible rock. He rubbed the back of his head and chuckled almost nervously. "I've had dreams about him."

"Who? Black? Or Parsons?"

"Sirius." Remus stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "He tells me that he's going to kill Parsons. If the centaurs haven't, that is."

"I told you to keep your mouth shut about that."

Remus was already waving a hand to ward off the Auror's anger. "I know, I know!"

They neared the end of the block before Moody gave him a quick glance. "You have a lot of dreams about him?"

The younger man shrugged and muttered something incoherent.

A car passed them and a teenager leaned out of the window, screaming obscenities at them.

"Bloody idiots," Moody said.

"He keeps telling me he didn't kill James and Lily," Remus suddenly volunteered.

The Auror gave him a much sharper look. "You aren't convinced?"

"It's difficult not to believe the evidence," the werewolf said slowly.

Moody pursed his lips and then nodded. "I've always told the trainees that if the evidence seems solid and the solution seems obvious, they're wrong. But, that whole thing with Black…"

They were silent for a while.

"You once asked me why Black killed them," Moody suddenly said. "Do you remember that?"

Remus' eyebrows lowered. "I think maybe…"

"When you were in St. Mungo's, and Healer Weimer was putting your hand back together."

"What did you say?"

Moody chuckled, but it was without humour. "I told you that you would know long before I would."

The werewolf sighed. "The problem is that I don't know how he could do it. I don't know how he could have fooled us all so like that."

"If you still don't know after all this time, chances are you're not ever going to know," Moody commented.

"Were we wrong — was I wrong — in not pushing for a trial?" Remus wondered aloud after a moment. "I know the Ministry would never have listened to me, but should I have gone to Dumbledore and demand he do it?"

"You did, but we told you what would have happened. If he had gone to trial with the evidence that we had, he would have been found guilty and then executed. Because he was automatically sentenced based on the evidence, he's still alive."

"I'm not sure Sirius would think it's any better though," Remus said quietly. "Life in Azkaban isn't much of a life."

"No, it isn't. But some day, if he does happen to get himself released, he can thank you for not pushing for the trial — and the guilty verdict that we know he'd have got."

"Honestly, Alastor, what are the chances he will ever be released?"

"Someday, once Potter's grown, if he wants to make a plea for clemency —"

"A plea for mercy." Remus shuddered.

Passing beneath a street lamp, Remus noticed that Moody looked startled at the younger man's wording.

"Could Harry ask for a trial?" Remus asked, ignoring the Auror's shock.

Moody nodded. "He could."

They walked for a block or two silently.

"When Harry gets to Hogwarts, will Dumbledore tell him about what happened to James and Lily?" Remus asked.

"I don't know what Albus' plans are," Moody admitted. "Whenever I've asked him about the boy, he's politely told me to bugger off."

"Do you think —" Remus took a deep breath. "Do you think he'll ever let me see Harry?"

"I'd think that there will come a time when Potter'll be curious about his parents, and you'll be the only one with most of the answers."

"He'll be curious about Sirius, too, but I won't have those answers."

"But what you say will probably influence the way he feels about Black," Moody pointed out.

"Do you think so?"

"I do. You can talk almost anyone around to anything — you did it enough when we were fighting Voldemort. If you can persuade a few people into not joining Voldemort, you can bloody well talk a kid into accepting Black's guilt —"

"Or his innocence," breathed Remus.

"I was going to say 'or your doubts about his guilt.'" Moody's magical eye seemed riveted to the werewolf. "You think he's innocent, don't you? Even though you said the evidence doesn't support that, you think he's innocent."

Remus hesitated. "I don't know."

"Are you prone to having visions? Is there a seer in the Lupin line somewhere?"

"No," Remus said immediately. "There isn't. It's just — instinct."

"The wolf doesn't want to believe his pack mate's a traitor?" Moody seemed to be deliberately sneering at him.

The werewolf drew in a sharp breath. "It just doesn't make sense to me. You saw James and Sirius together. You know how Sirius was. He never pretended to be anything that he wasn't. He wouldn't even attempt to get back into his family's good graces to get information for the Order."

Moody nodded slowly. "I know," he admitted.

"But that fact isn't enough. My doubts aren't enough. The only chance Sirius has for a trial is Harry."

"Wait a minute." Moody put a hand out and grabbed Remus' arm. "Are you saying that you're going to try to talk Potter into pushing to ask for a trial for Black? It might bloody well get Black killed! You're better off making Potter feel sorry for Black and have the boy ask for clemency."

Remus shook his head. "No. A trial would tell whether Sirius was guilty or innocent. And he'll get the chance to tell his side of the story."

"You're going to put Black's life right into that boy's hands! Do you want Black's death on Potter's shoulders?"

"Do you think his father would forgive me if I didn't?" Remus shot back. "If Sirius is innocent, he shouldn't be there. If he's guilty, he deserves death. Either way, he won't be suffering any more."

"And neither will you," Moody said with a sudden clarity. "Is this what it's all about? Settling things for _your_ sake?"

The younger man exhaled heavily then said quietly. "He was my friend, Alastor. He was one of my best friends for years. He became my friend, trusted me — he loved me, Alastor, and I loved him. Not _that_ way — but he'd have done anything for me at one time. I know that. He deserves something — something for all that he did for me." He smiled sadly. "He deserves mercy, Alastor. Either the mercy I gave Libertas, or the mercy that Snape and the centaurs gave me."

**Well, come on! You know he had to have been wondering about it before he went face-to-face with Sirius in the Shrieking Shack, right? There's no way the man (brilliant as he may be) could have put all those pieces together and come up with the fact that Sirius was innocent and Peter was the murderer in just one mad, crazed, panicked run from his office to the Shack. I know it, and you know it too! **

**Unless, of course, he knows Legilimency.... But that's another can of worms completely... And it doesn't fit into the context of my story.**


	31. Chapter 30:Full Circle

A/N: This is my last A/N for Carny. I am not going to spoil the mood going from the end of this chapter and into the epilogue. So, if it's a bit wordy, understand that it is because I'm a bit overwhelmed right now. I never finish anything that takes more than a few days to do. So the thought of writing something actually book-length, over a period of several months, was foreign to me. It was nearly laughable. So, the fact that I've brought this thing to completion is amazing to me.

Thanks and hugs to **Zarathustra** for her hard work. She was the only one willing to touch this story to beta it, and my appreciation is boundless. Thanks and even more hugs to **SortingHat47**, a friend without measure, who encouraged me from the very beginning that this story was a good one and that I could finish it!  
Thanks to **remuslives23** and **Wolviesfan** who inspire me and push me to think of more plotlines to sink our beloved Remus into--and send me wonderful pictures of David Thewlis (whose fingers and eyes have also inspired me greatly)!  
Thanks to everyone else who reviewed all along this epic. A review really does make a huge difference, and your support and comments kept me going. (I'm talking to you, especially: allycat1186, PopstarJ01, Crescent-Moon-Love, floss bucket, KnightMara, taigne, Alaramine, Captain Cactus, furrylittlesecret, cherry-s-twin, and sonoralie! And also: Liv Naravul, , Aloha (), wrappedinharry, Southerns, merlinssister12, Lerra, Ecilla, anna_cat (), Missus Moony, TheMaraudersWillLiveForever, and MahsaFF). Special thanks to those of you who put this on alert as well. It makes a writer feel great knowing that someone is actually anticipating a new chapter of something you're writing!

Disclaimer: The characters Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Albus Dumbledore, and Sirius Black are not mine. Neither James nor Peter are mine either. They were all created by JKRowling, who has gotten all the money and glory.

**Chapter 30: Full Circle**

**Thursday, 15 May, 1986—8:34 p.m.**

Alastor Moody knocked sharply on the door and fiddled with the wand in his pocket. He waited for a moment then rapped again. A voice suddenly answered, but it wasn't from behind the door.

"Can I help you?"

The Auror looked down toward the bottom of the stairs and saw a small, grey-haired woman standing there with a crocheted shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"I was looking for Lupin — Remus," the older man corrected himself.

"Remus?"

"He means me, Mrs Sheffield," Remus said, coming through the wrought iron gate behind her, carrying a shopping bag in one arm, and his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"You told me your name was John," she said in an accusatory tone.

"Remus is my first name — an old family name. It's not one that I use if I can help." He smiled at her, and Moody chuckled to himself at the boy's obvious charm. "What self-respecting bloke lets himself be called 'Remus'? The chaps down at the warehouse will think me bent for sure." He winked saucily at her, and she smiled.

"Well, John is a fine, strong name. You know that John was my husband's name?" she asked.

"So you've said." She turned slightly, and Remus rolled his eyes, letting Moody know that the woman had said it probably a dozen times.

"You do know him?" the woman spoke in a slightly quieter voice, looking back at Remus but jerking her head in Moody's direction.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Remus said, with a smile. "This is my uncle, Alastor Moody. Uncle Alastor, won't you come down and meet Mrs Sheffield?"

_Boy's as cheeky as they come. Needs bringing down a peg or two. _

"You're going to make me come down those steps with my bad leg being what it is?"

"Sorry, Uncle Alastor." In a voice just loud enough to carry up the stairs, Remus said, "He lost his leg in the war. Gets around amazingly well, but likes us to feel sorry for him. You know how those old soldiers are."

"Poor dear," Mrs Sheffield said, shaking her head. "I'll meet him another time. No reason to make him come all the way down the steps just to meet me. Here, wait a minute…" She stepped back inside the doorway leading into her rooms.

"Lupin!" Moody said warningly through clenched teeth.

Remus grinned at him and held up a long finger, signalling him to wait. A moment later, the older woman came back out through the door and handed Remus a plate covered by another.

"Here are some biscuits for the two of you. Now you make sure you bring your uncle by for tea some day, understand me, young John?"

"Absolutely," Remus smiled warmly at her and bobbed his head in her direction. "You're a wonderful woman, Mrs Sheffield." He leaned closer and whispered loudly, "You know, my uncle's a widower. You could do worse…"

"Get on with you, you cheeky thing!" She giggled and slapped Remus on the arm. With a wave in Alastor's direction, she retreated back through her door, closing it firmly behind her.

"I am going to bloody hex you into next week, Lupin," Moody commented, feeling unaccustomed heat flush his face as the younger man came up the stairs, the plates held carefully in his hands.

"Wait until you taste her biscuits, then tell me you wouldn't marry her in a heartbeat," Remus said, fumbling for his key.

"'Uncle Alastor,' though?"

Wide blue eyes were turned to him. "Don't you want a werewolf as a nephew?" A smirk quickly replaced the look of innocence. "I could tell her you're my lover, instead…"

"Humping Hippogriffs," Moody rolled his good eye, and his magical eye swirled so rapidly in its socket that he felt dizzy. The younger man was still struggling to get his key out of his pocket, so Alastor looked around and, seeing no prying eyes, pointed at the lock. "_Alohomora,_" he whispered.

The door opened immediately. "No reason to make things difficult," the Auror said, seeing Remus' quick look of alarm.

"I don't want to get used to doing things like that," Remus said, leading the way into the flat. "I'll forget myself some time, and I really don't want to have to explain things to either Mrs Sheffield or an Obliviator."

He pointed at the light switch on the wall and snapped his fingers, and the overhead light came on. He grinned at Moody (_Incorrigible bastard!)_ and then went to the kitchen area, leaving the older man to glance around.

It was a small place; Remus hadn't understated it. _Might have overstated it, in fact. _Still, it was clean and neat. The new paint on the walls probably hid a multitude of sins. The curtains were ragged at the hems and faded, but serviceable, as was the carpet on the floor.

Moody gingerly sat down on a chair covered by what appeared to be a bedspread. "Wouldn't figure this to be your decorating style, Lupin," he said. He settled back into the chair, finding it extremely comfortable.

"It's all Mrs Sheffield's doing," Remus said. "When I told her I didn't have much furniture to move in, she found these pieces upstairs. Had to manhandle the damned things down the stairs though, because she was watching me."

The Auror chuckled.

"Right, you can laugh," the younger man said scornfully. "Nearly broke my bloody foot when I dropped that chair on it." He brought the plate of biscuits over and placed it on a small end table between the chair and the settee. "Here, I'll get us some tea."

"No, wait." Moody suddenly reached into the pocket of his long coat and pulled out a bottle of scotch. "I thought I'd bring something along in honour of the occasion."

"Then let me get the glasses."

They worked their way through half the plate of cookies and half the bottle of alcohol while they talked. Suddenly a thumping beneath them interrupted Remus' story about a Norwegian ship rat that had attacked one of the warehouse workers.

The young man got up. "I'll be back. Mrs Sheffield needs me. It should only take a minute or two."

"If it only takes a minute or two, you're not doing it right," Moody said.

Remus laughed, his blue eyes dancing at the innuendo. "She's old enough to be my grandmother, for Merlin's sake! She probably just can't reach something, and as I happen to be taller than everyone else around her, I get the honours."

"That's a relief," Moody said, taking another drink of scotch. "I was hoping you weren't quite that desperate for a shag."

Remus gave him a two-fingered response and headed downstairs.

While he was gone, Moody went to work. Starting at the front door, then making his way around the apartment, he muttered nearly continuously, until white threads were webbed in all directions around the flat. Glancing around to make sure everything was in place, he muttered a last incantation and made an intricate gesture with his wand. The filaments glowed brightly for a moment and then disappeared.

Smiling at his success, the Auror went back to his chair and waited for the young man to return.

**Saturday, 24 May**

There were several men and women in the small office at the Ministry, but Albus Dumbledore mostly kept his eyes on Alastor Moody. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have sworn that the Auror was nervous about something. The wizard seemed to be listening to the reports and comments that were being made, but his gaze kept going to the tip of his wand, as if he expected it to do something.

"Now, who did they say was leading this coterie of vampires?" someone asked.

"A vampire by the name of Raoul Martineau. I think he will be reasonable," one of the witches replied.

Moody looked up. "By 'reasonable,' do you mean he's not likely to suck every last drop of blood from our contact's veins?"

They all had a laugh, and several more minutes passed as more plans were formulated then discarded, but Dumbledore remained intrigued by Moody's behaviour. Even as he plotted and schemed and argued with the others, the Auror's eyes kept returning to the tip of his wand, which remained dark. He started glancing periodically at the clock on the wall, giving it increasingly deep frowns.

One of the other Ministry workers finally sighed. "We'll have to send someone to talk to Martineau, then, and to that vampire in Romania—what's his name again?"

"Antonescu," snapped Moody. He straightened and suddenly grabbed the grey cloak that he had worn in to shield himself from the rain that had been falling that morning. "Listen, I have to go check on something. Can we meet tomorrow afternoon to finish this?"

"We can finish here while you take care of whatever it is," Dumbledore said. "I'll give you the information after you come back.

The Auror hesitated and then gave a curt nod. "All right, then." He left quickly without another word.

After an hour, things seemed to be settled to everyone's satisfaction, and the men and women began to leave the office. Dumbledore assured them that he'd wait for Moody to return and tell him their plans. When the last wizard had left the office, Hogwarts' Headmaster carefully returned the maps to their cases and the reports to their folders. He was just finishing when a familiar silver patronus glided into the room. "Meet me at my place," it said with Moody's customary growl.

Less than twenty minutes later, Dumbledore found himself in a chair in Alastor Moody's front room, with a glass of wine in his hand.

The Auror sat down in his leather chair and sipped at his own glass of wine. "I'd about had it with Mulhearn. He can't speak unless he uses words of more than ten letters. And Lloyd can't use words of more than four letters — I was sick of translating."

"Is that why you left, then?" Dumbledore asked, with a smile. "To leave the task of translation to me?"

"Did it work?"

"I'd say it did. We settled some details…" Albus then took a few minutes to tell what had happened since the Moody had left them. When he had finished, he swirled the wine gently in the glass, and asked, "So you left because you were sick of Mulhearn and Lloyd?"

Moody shrugged. "Full moon was last night. I realised that Lupin hadn't got back to his flat, so I went to check on him."

"I saw you looking at your wand…" Dumbledore's voice tapered off, insinuating a question.

"Last week, when I went to Lupin's flat, I laid out a variation of an Auror's Dark magic traps: the ones that let us know when Dark magic is being used within the spell's perimeters. I was hoping that when I activated the threads, the Dark that's in him would trigger the wards, making the tip of my wand light up and I'd know when he got home."

"And you did this because —?"

"I'd know _if_ he got home."

Dumbledore thought about Moody's distress as time had passed and nothing had happened. "You knew, then, that Remus hadn't made it home, and you went to find him."

The Auror nodded.

"How is he?" Albus asked.

"He's asleep now," Moody replied, evading the question.

"Does he know that you've made his flat into a Dark magic trap?" Dumbledore smiled at the description, but it didn't quite touch his eyes.

"Hells, no, Albus! He'd never stand for it if he knew."

"Aren't you concerned he'll figure it out now that you've gone to his assistance?"

"He's not capable of figuring it out at this moment," the Auror said bluntly. "And before he does start thinking about it, I'll tell him that I stopped in to check on him, he wasn't home, and then I went to the barn to see if he was still there. It's all perfectly logical."

"Will it seem logical to Remus?" Dumbledore mused. "If he suspects what you've done, Alastor…"

"He shouldn't," Moody said with a smirk. "He'd have to be extremely lucky or devilishly clever to come up with the counter-spell to those wards."

The Headmaster stroked his beard gently, not saying anything.

"Besides," the Auror continued, becoming more serious, "I'll only have to hide them for a few months, more than likely."

Dumbledore gave him a quizzical glance.

"He's giving himself only seven months until he loses his job at the warehouse, and nine months until he has to move out of the flat."

"Alastor!"

Moody shrugged then chuckled dryly. "Those are his words, not mine. He's got a bloody good sense of gallows humour. You should have heard him this morning when —" He abruptly silenced himself as a sudden thump came from overhead. He looked up at the ceiling, waited a moment, muttered something about stubborn fools, and then yelled, "Lupin, keep your arse in bed! You hear me?"

"He's upstairs?"

"He was in no shape to be home by himself," Moody said, still watching the ceiling. "Damn it, that git is going to —"

He was out of his chair and heading for the stairs before the crash.

Albus followed the Auror up the stairs at a little slower pace, so he just caught the end of Moody's castigation: "… break open and you'll lose blood that you damned well can't afford to lose!"

Remus' voice was weak, but there was a note of amusement as he said, "Do you suppose if I lose all of it, I won't be a werewolf anymore?" He suddenly realised that someone else was there and looked up at the Headmaster with a lopsided grin. "Hullo, sir."

"Hello, Remus. How are you feeling?"

The werewolf actually chuckled. "I _was_ feeling rather awful. _Now_ I'm feeling bloody terrible."

"Stupid bugger," Alastor said, reaching down and pulling an unsteady Remus to his feet. "Now, get back in that bed. Don't know what you were thinking —"

"I was thinking I could at least make it to the loo," the younger man replied. "I didn't realise I was so weak."

That started Moody into another round of curses and rebukes, but by the time he had run out of verbal steam, he had helped Remus into the bathroom. After he had closed the door, he looked at the Headmaster and growled, "Too stubborn for his own effing good."

"How the two of you have managed to get along so well has mystified me," Dumbledore teased gently.

"It's probably a bloody miracle we haven't killed each other."

"Not that you haven't tried with that miserable concoction you call rhubarb crumble," Remus called through the door.

"I'll have you know that my mother used to make it that way," Moody shot back.

There was silence.

"Did you hear me, boy?"

"I'm trying not to say anything that will insult your mum and get me hexed into oblivion." There was a bump and a muffled curse.

"Lupin?"

A few seconds ticked by, and then Remus said, rather shakily, "Alastor, I think I need some help."

The Auror immediately went into the room, leaving the Headmaster where he was, listening to the resulting conversation.

"Hell's bells, boy! You're as pale as a ghost!"

"Gods, I almost wish I was one. I wouldn't feel so wretched and helpless."

"You nearly bled to death out there. What did you expect?" The door swung fully open and the two men staggered out into the hallway. Remus was leaning heavily against the older wizard, one arm around Moody's shoulders.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he listened to the exchange of swearing and witty retorts, threats and mildly self-deprecating comments as they made their way into the guest bedroom.

"Albus, fetch the Blood-Replenisher from that shelf," Moody ordered, with a vague toss of his hand in the right direction.

The Headmaster did as Alastor demanded, and handed the vial to Remus once the younger wizard was settled back in the bed.

"You didn't have time to put wolfsbane in this after my comment about the rhubarb crumble, did you?" Remus asked, smiling lopsidedly at the Auror.

"No, but you might not want to eat the soup I bring up for you later."

With a broader grin, the werewolf downed the potion and handed the empty bottle back to Dumbledore. As he did, the Headmaster couldn't help but look into the blue eyes and think of a time at St. Mungo's, when Remus was refusing to take any kind of potions.

Slowly, but surely, Remus had found comfort, had regained his strength, had received forgiveness — and now, he had rediscovered trust.

**Wednesday, 4 June, 1986—8:25 a.m.**

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Remus Lupin, werewolf, here for the annual interview and inspection."

"Thank you. Please take the badge and attach it to the front of your clothing."

As Remus pinned the silver badge with the red W onto his shirt, the voice continued, "Visitor to the Ministry, as a werewolf, you are required to relinquish your wand at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. You will be able to retrieve it when you leave the premises."

The young man took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he left the telephone box that served as the entrance to the Ministry, and started through the Atrium. The last time he'd been here was when he'd taken the Portkey to Greece with Dumbledore. He chose to concentrate on that time, because otherwise he'd have to think of other things.

It had been a full year since he'd been here for his last physical — the one in which he'd met Bernard Carmichael face to face.

His wand was weighed and he verified it was his. Then it was placed in the special box reserved for the wands of those who were restricted from carrying them inside the Ministry. He was now virtually defenceless. Not completely, perhaps, because Moody had shown him a few spells that he could do without a wand.

It had been a full year to the day since Carmichael had come to take him out of Alatza's shed.

He started toward the lifts, taking a deep breath, choosing to ignore the squeak of fear from the witch who happened to look at the badge pinned to his shirt.

It had been a full year…

"YOU!" The pronoun was spat with such disdain and hatred that Remus recoiled before he even realised that the venom was being directed at him. "You've done this to me!"

It had been a full year since he'd first been dropped at this man's feet.

The man's moustache was nowhere near as neat as Remus remembered it, and the beard was new and unkempt. An attempt had been made to comb the man's hair, but it was greasy and limp. The well-tailored clothing hung untidily on his once ample frame.

"I've done nothing to you, Mr Bentley," Remus said calmly, even though his stomach was twisting into shapes he knew he'd never recognize.

Bentley twisted his head to glare over his shoulder as the two Magical Law Enforcement wizards hustled him toward the lifts. "Ever since you were taken away, it's just been one bloody mess after another —"

"Blame Parsons," Remus called after him.

"Bloody, effing Parsons —" There was a string of invectives that Remus couldn't hear, and then suddenly, among all the vitriol, Remus realised he had heard: "— Black won't give me a moment's peace —"

He darted forward, dodging around other Ministry workers, trying to get closer to Bentley and his escorts. They were already in the lift…

"Wait!" he shouted. "Did you say Sirius Black?" He was too far away to stop them, he knew. A few people gave him frightened looks at the sound of the infamous criminal's name.

Bentley looked at him and there was fear in the man's dark eyes.

One of the MLE men pressed a button...

"Says he'll rip my throat out for what I've done to you!" Bentley snarled. "And I didn't lay one finger on you! He's mad! Threatens to —"

The door closed.

Remus stood very still for a long moment, letting others push past him.

"Lupin."

The name snapped him out of his thoughts and his memories, and he turned to see Alastor Moody.

"You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Gerald Bentley —"

The Auror grunted. "Sorry. Thought I'd warned you about him, that he was coming in today for another hearing. This is the third one —"

Remus lost track of the words, and Moody's voice faded into the background noise. All he could think of right now was being curled in the dirt at Bentley's feet, torn and bloody…

A hard punch in the arm brought him to reality quickly and with quite a bit of pain.

"You didn't need to do that!" he said loudly to the Auror as he rubbed the bruised muscle.

"I did. I was afraid you were going to have one of those flashbacks again, and you really don't need to get into that state of mind now," Moody snapped. "Now, are you all right? Are you with me?"

Remus nodded quickly. "What time is it? I need to get upstairs."

"It's about ten 'til nine. I'll ride up with you."

Remus shrugged—there wasn't much he could do to dissuade Moody—and turned toward the lifts and within seconds, they had reached the floor with Werewolf Registry.

"I'll come back and check on you later," Moody said, standing sideways at the entrance so the door wouldn't close yet. The two other people who had risked riding in the lift with a werewolf shifted restlessly inside the little box.

"You don't have to."

The Auror chuckled once. "I know I don't have to; I want to. Now, remember, you've been through hell and back — at least twice. You can handle this." He suddenly looked at one of the wizards standing in the back of the lift, one who had just cleared his throat quite loudly. "You know, if you need to get that frog out of your throat, I've got just the spell for it."

Horror appeared on the man's face.

Moody turned back to Remus and gave him a wink. "Don't let the bastards get you down." He stepped back inside the lift and jabbed at the button while saying over his shoulder, "Patience is a bleeding virtue, you —"

The door slid shut on the rest of Moody's sentence. Remus stood for a moment, staring at the panels and smiling broadly. But then he turned and looked down the long hallway toward the Registry office and felt his smile die.

_I can do this._

It had been a year since he'd been down this hallway…

_I'm NOT going to let them get to me…_

It had been a year since his feet had led him down this corridor, past that office, that door…

James would have said, "It's not going to be like last year, Moony."

_Gods, I hope not._

… A year since he'd been at the mercy of the Ministry workers and the bloody damned werewolf hunter…

Peter would have said, "Carmichael won't be here, Moony, so you don't have to worry about him."

_Bastard. I'm not afraid of Carmichael. I'm not._

… A year since the nightmare that had been Bentley and Parsons Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures had begun...

"But you made it, Moony." Sirius' voice was like a whisper in his ear. "You showed those sons of bitches you were stronger than they gave you credit for."

Much had happened — much had _changed_ in the past year. Much had been taken from Remus, but he had found more things that he had thought were lost to him: friendship, redemption, hope…

Remus straightened his shoulders.

"You can do this, Moony," Sirius said firmly.

_You know what? I _can_ do this. _"You're absolutely right, Padfoot," he whispered to himself, and he smiled as he reached for the doorknob to let himself in to the Registry office.


	32. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Wednesday, 18 June, 1986 — 4:02 a.m. **

They were walking through a forest, not talking, not laughing—certainly not looking at each other.

Finally, Remus cleared his throat. "Why won't you just tell me the truth?"

Sirius halted abruptly and turned toward his friend. "Moony, I've always told you the truth." He felt a sharp sting that Remus would even question it.

"But it doesn't make sense!" Remus protested. "You were the Secret-Keeper!"

"Damn it, Moony!" Sirius exploded. "You were smarter than this! Do you need me to do your thinking for you?"

"I just want you to tell me what happened!"

Sirius reached out and put his hand on Remus' shoulder. "I never would have done anything to hurt them. And gods, Moony, I never would have left you alone. Surely you know that. Surely you believe that!"

"You were pushing me away —"

"You were pushing _yourself_ away. You wouldn't tell us anything!" Sirius' voice rose in frustration. "Remus, you always did that when you were trying to protect us. I knew that! All I wanted to know — all I _needed_ to know — was that you knew what you were doing, and that you still loved us."

Remus' eyes filled with tears. "Of course I loved you all! You were my family, Sirius! You, James, and Peter were my brothers! Lily was my sister —"

Sirius chuckled knowingly, sadly. "She was more than that."

"Gods, don't start," Remus growled.

The full moon came out from behind some clouds, and the werewolf shuddered violently.

"It's a dream, Moony. It's not real."

Remus suddenly reached up and put his hand over Sirius'. "It feels real." He looked up at the moon and another tremor went through his body. "Sirius — Padfoot…"

"I'm here, Moony. I'm here," Sirius whispered it over and over as Remus' body contorted and stretched, as the human screamed and then howled his way through the agony of bones breaking and muscles shifting — until a wolf stood where the young man once had. Then the handsome, dark-haired young man quickly, fluidly, painlessly, transformed into a big, black dog.

The wolf lifted his head and nuzzled at the dog, whining piteously, his golden eyes frightened yet curious.

Padfoot lowered his head and wagged his tail tentatively. His inquisitive bark made the wolf cock his head to the left, and inside the dog's head, Sirius laughed at the completely Remus-like gesture.

Then, mouth open, tongue lolling, the dog jumped at the wolf, roughly bumping him with a silky, black-furred shoulder. The wolf growled warningly and pushed at Padfoot with his sharp-clawed paw, though it was gently, as if he was intentionally trying not to hurt the dog. The black dog hunkered down, his ears flat against his head, watching and waiting for what the wolf would do next.

The wolf stared at him and then tossed his head with a gesture that was reminiscent of Remus rolling his eyes. Padfoot barked, his ears pricking forward. But the wolf pranced around the dog, nipping at the black animal's hindquarters. The dog got up, confused as to what Moony wanted. This wasn't their usual play. Usually, when they played, the dog was trying to distract the wolf from remembering that it wanted blood and flesh and bones — unless it was the rodents and small game they found within the shelter of the Forbidden Forest. This was something different. This was the wolf bouncing playfully around him, entreating him to run, to chase, to escape...

Moony suddenly darted into the trees, stopping just long enough to look over his shoulder. His golden eyes were laughing, daring Padfoot to follow.

With a sharp yip, the dog charged after him, but the wolf darted away, huffing with almost human laughter as the dog struggled to keep up…

In the depths of Azkaban prison, a man with long, matted, black hair opened his eyes: the scent of the forest in his nostrils, the feel of sticks and pine needles still imprinted on the pads of his fingertips and palms. This hadn't been the first dream he'd had of the dog and the wolf, and this certainly hadn't been the first time that he and the other young man had walked and talked about betrayal. But this time, there was something different, something that made him realise that — somehow — things had changed.

The wolf had changed. Remus had changed.

He couldn't help it. The thought that Moony — that Remus — didn't need him now turned him colder than the Dementors ever had.

"Don't leave me, Remus," he whispered.

Tears were in Remus' eyes when he opened them moments later. The black dog's yips and comedic yelps still echoed in his ears, and the goose bumps on his arms had to have been caused by the breeze weaving through the trees as they had run together through the forest. Still, there was a smile on his face, and a lightness in his chest that hadn't been there for years.

"I'm with you, Sirius," he whispered.

**Finis**

**Thanks for reading!**


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